A Simple Wound
by CocoaB
Summary: Gimli is asked to keep a secret that could spell disaster for more than one member of the Fellowship.
1. Something White

Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies – not mine, no money, just for fun.

Please Note - this story is AU!

Thank you to my beta Sarah who is back with me again, even after the horror of the last story - I could not have a better beta or a better friend!

A Simple Wound

Chapter 1

Something White

Only the sound of laboured breathing could be heard, that and the occasional scuffing of feet across the hard terrain, or a muttered oath when one of the Fellowship missed their footing and stumbled. They were travelling quickly; the Orcs might be following. But it wasn't fear alone that drove their steps; their hearts ached with the pain of loss as they sped across the hills and meadows. They fled not only Orcs but also the memory of what they left behind in that terrible place - the vision of Gandalf as he fell to his death, his last words playing over and over again in each of their minds as they ran – _Fly,__ you fools!_

And so they flew, losing themselves in the numbing rhythm of endless steps, drowning their sorrow in exhaustion and the tangible pain of sore, aching limbs. Aragorn carried Frodo and Boromir, Sam, while they searched for a safe place to rest and tend to the small hobbits' wounds. Until at last, another stumble, another muttered oath and Aragorn once again took control as he had outside of the Great Gates. "We will stop here," he commanded and waved them off of the path they travelled and into the sparse wood that lined the way. "We rest, but not long, so make good use of your time."

"I'll scout behind and assure that nothing follows," Legolas offered, stepping forward.

Aragorn examined the Elf carefully, up and down, while furrowing his brow. At last, he gave a curt nod. "Very well. But then you too must rest. You look – tired." Legolas appeared more ill than tired to Gimli's eyes, with a grey cast to his normally glowing skin and a dull look in his eye. He wondered if Aragorn had seen the same, which would explain the furrowed brow.

The Elf returned the nod without comment and began to gather up everyone's water skins. "I'll fill these while I look about," he said, not waiting for an answer before disappearing into the trees. The episode gave Gimli pause for thought, for the Elf had been in superb health since they had left Rivendell, not showing even a moment of fatigue or weakness in all of their wearying days of travel, much to Gimli's aggravation. That he should look unwell now was surprising, unless of course his appearance had nothing to do with how he felt physically and everything to do with the effect of the loss of Gandalf on his mental state.

Could such a deeply felt sorrow make one appear physically ill? It occurred to Gimli, then, whose stumble had brought about this respite – Legolas had been the one to trip; it had been an Elvish oath that had been muttered in a voice that had sounded most unlike the Elf's. That incident alone should have stood out like a pack of Wargs in Gimli's awareness, for the Elf had never so much as stubbed a toe on their journey. It pointed to the effect that the loss of Gandalf had on the dwarf, as well, that he would miss such a singular event. He heaved a sigh, feeling all at once as though a heavy weight rested upon his chest, a manifestation of his own sorrow. "I'll gather wood for a fire," he said, suddenly anxious to be away from the others and have a moment to try and reorder his world again. "You will need hot water to tend the hobbits' wounds."

This time Gimli was on the receiving end of Aragorn's careful examination. Once again the man nodded but this time without the furrowed brow. Gimli must not appear as awful as the Elf had, regardless of how awful he felt. "Keep your eyes open, Master Dwarf," Aragorn warned. "I cannot be certain that we have not been followed. There could be unsavoury creatures about."

"Have no fear for me." Gimli replied. He hefted his axe and headed in a direction perpendicular to that which the Elf had taken, certain that that was _one_ unsavoury creature he did not wish to run into. Time spent together had not changed Gimli's feelings toward the Elf at all. They had been antagonistic from the start and their constant baiting and biting at each other had only made things between them worse. In fact, their behaviour had become so wearisome to everyone that Gandalf had been forced to bring them together and chastise them both, telling them that they were acting like children and that they would find themselves more alike than dissimilar if only they would take a chance to get to know one another. The dressing down had been enough that they now simply avoided each other though they still found subtle ways to spite one another when Gandalf wasn't aware.

Gandalf! The memory of what had just occurred came back in a rush and guilt joined the sorrow and despair that already filled Gimli's heart. Whilst he admonished the guilty pair, the wizard had begged them to get along, to think of the importance of their task and to put aside petty complaints. That Gimli had had any part in making the wizard's last days on this earth painful or difficult in the least made him ashamed, even if it had all been the Elf's fault. He should have stood strong and not let that irritating creature get to him!

He wandered aimlessly for a bit, hearing shortly the rush of water from the nearby Silverlode. He followed the sound, letting it soothe his tormented spirit and once on the banks of the river, he paused, revelling in the touch of cool air against his skin. Although the hour was past noon and the sun stood high in the sky, the water was sheathed in shadow, the hills across the river's slight expanse and the trees from this side blocking out most of the light. The gloom brought Gimli back to his senses and he gave himself a mental shake, acknowledging that he had spent the last five minutes oblivious to everything around him, belying the words he had just spoken to Aragorn. He turned back, intending to gather the firewood he knew Aragorn awaited, when a flash of something white, seen through the woods upstream, caught his eye. Curiosity and caution turned his steps in that direction.

He pushed through the branches of a low hanging tree and came upon the Elf, lounging comfortably against a boulder, fastening the clasps of his tunic about his neck, the still empty water skins strewn about the rocks beside the river. Dampened hair was plastered against his head and he appeared to have been bathing rather than taking care of what he had said he would take care of. Gimli felt a sudden surge of anger. How could the vain creature be so concerned about his appearance with Gandalf only just dead! He must have made a sound for the Elf's eyes shot up from what he was doing, his fair face turning hard when he discovered Gimli spying.

"I need no help, Dwarf," he snarled, leaping to his feet, his hands balling into fists at his sides, no doubt embarrassed to be caught so unaware.

Gimli opened his mouth, eager to point out this obvious shortcoming, but the memory of how he had failed Gandalf by succumbing to this miserable creature's constant goading still sat heavily upon his heart. "And I do not intend to provide you with any," he huffed, instead. He spun quickly on his heel and stomped away, back in the direction from which he had come. _Prickly creature, that Elf, _he thought._ Prickly and prissy both_.

He entered the woods again, further on down and began to gather dry kindling, forcing his attention to the work at hand while fighting the urge to continue to prod and pick at his irritation with the Elf. There was something more than irritation that bothered him though, he realized, as he piled wood into his arms. He had seen a flash of something white before he discovered the Elf. The Elf wore green and grey, not white, unless, perhaps, Gimli had glimpsed his underclothing. No. The Elf's under garments were grey as well, not white, Gimli recalled, having seen them on the rare occasion when bathing had been an option during their journey and the even rarer occasion when he had chosen to take advantage of it. Well, perhaps then it had been simply a flash of the Elf's hair – it had a tendency to appear quite pale in the sun, so golden was its colour. No, he countered himself again. It was something distinctly white that had caught his attention, not something golden and the sun was shadowed by the trees and could not have been a factor at all. What, then, had he seen?

Gimli caught sight of the Elf ahead of him, returning to camp. He should return too; his arms were full and they would want a fire to heat the water to tend Frodo and Sam's wounds, if Aragorn deemed it safe enough. He paused when he came abreast of where he had discovered the Elf, casting his eyes to the boulder against which the Elf had rested. With curiosity driving his steps, Gimli moved closer, his eyes now inspecting the area, searching for what might have caused the flash of white that had caught his attention earlier. Nothing. He was about to give up and start back for the camp when something else caught his eye – not a flash of white this time but something entirely different. Gimli went down on a knee beside the boulder. He examined this new discovery, touching his fingers to it and raising his hand to his face so he might get a better look. There was no question in his mind what he viewed.

The hoot of an owl broke his concentration. Gimli recognized the sound as one of Aragorn's Ranger signals, this one used to call them back to camp. He brushed his hand against his thigh and stood slowly, frowning as he did, wondering what, if anything, should be his response to this discovery. As he contemplated his options, once again, something caught his eye; the ground at his feet had been disturbed.

He lowered himself once more, balancing his load of wood against one arm and used his free hand and one of the sticks he carried to dig in the dirt, unearthing what had been buried there. Something that had been, undeniably, at one point, white. He held it out, draped across the stick like a limp, dead snake while he examined it further, once again pondering the question of what he should do.

He could confront the Elf in front of the others – it would give him great pleasure to at last see that pointy-eared pain in the backside in ill-favour with Aragorn who had defended him throughout their journey, even when the Elf had been smart-mouthed and arrogant to them all. Well, to Gimli that is. It would be satisfying indeed to see him squirm, for Aragorn would, most assuredly, be displeased, though just how displeased remained to be seen. Gimli's plan might actually backfire, he realized, and the Elf might garner even more of the Ranger's attention **-**and at a time when the rest of the Fellowship needed him too. Aragorn was obviously partial to the Elf and might let the friendship he felt cause him to give more care and concern to the loathsome creature than he was justly due. Gimli doubted it; Aragorn had been entirely fair on this journey and the Elf, he had to admit, albeit grudgingly, had always pulled his weight. But the Ranger would likely feel torn.

Gimli shook himself. That would not be good, not now with all that the Man had to concern himself with. And no matter how much Gimli might dislike the haughty, self-absorbed creature, he would not let his feelings change what he knew was right - he owed the Elf the chance to explain in private. He was, after all, a comrade in arms. And if he provided a suitable explanation, one that satisfied Gimli's concerns for the safety of the Fellowship - all he really cared about, after all - well, then, it was none of his affair and he would ignore it, no matter what opportunities for revenge the situation might present.

The owl hooted again - more of a screech than a hoot this time. Pocketing what he had found, Gimli stood once more, hefting his load and cradling it against his chest. No, he would keep this bit of information to himself, unless the Elf forced his hand. He would watch, for now, and he would wait for the opportune moment to speak in private.

When he returned to camp, Gimli found his water skin dangling from a branch just out of his reach and tied so securely that he had no choice but to ask Aragorn's help to retrieve it. The dwarf had to bite his tongue to keep from turning to the Ranger right then and filling him in on his secret. But he kept to his principles, though hard it was to do, allowing himself a moment to enjoy the sense of power and pleasure he got from the thing rolled tightly in his pocket, imagining himself revealing what he knew, knowing just how exceedingly embarrassing he could make life for that son-of-an-Orc, if he so chose. Instead, he lit his pipe while Aragorn and Boromir worked over the hobbit's wounds and puffed furiously, forcing his fractious nerves to calm, making quite certain that he stood upwind of the Elf as he smoked. And each time the other moved to escape the smoke, Gimli repositioned himself accordingly. The Elf was lucky that Dwarves, unlike Elves, were honourable and had a well-honed sense of right and wrong…


	2. A Simple Wound

Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies – not mine, no money, just for fun.

Please Note - this story is AU!

Thanks again to Sarah for her hard work and to all who are reading this story, as well. Special thanks to those who have reviewed – it really brightens my day (week, month year!) to hear that you are reading and liking – thank you all!

Chapter 2

A Simple Wound

The attack had been sudden. They had had no warning at all. That alone should have raised Gimli's concern for the Elf had been full of dire warning all through their journey. This time, however, he had been caught unawares; taken by surprise just like the rest of them. But Gimli had no time to mull over this interesting circumstance since he was currently fighting off not one, but two Orcs, simultaneously.

They were small, much like the goblins of Moria, but they were fast and seemingly without feeling – Gimli had hewn off one's arm and yet it had barely hesitated before retrieving its weapon with its remaining hand and continuing at once to relentlessly hack away at Gimli's head. Even as he fought, the dwarf listened intently to the sounds around him. Aragorn had shouted that they should each take on the protection of one of the hobbits and that the little folk were to stay safely tucked behind their protectors unless it became absolutely necessary for them to fight. The dwarf wanted to make certain that Merry, his charge, was safe, and that no Orc had snuck up on him while Gimli was otherwise occupied. Merry was, for the most part, quiet however, only an occasional cry of "Good job!" or "Duck!" breaking through the sounds of clanging metal, Orc screeches and grunts that filled the clearing where they fought.

Blood loss finally won out and the one-armed Orc collapsed, leaving Gimli with only a single assailant to contend with, a veritable picnic compared to what he had faced many times in his past. He was making fast work of his opponent when a soft cry caught his attention. Gimli turned from the Orc he fought to quickly check on Merry, even as he assured himself that the cry he had heard was not from a hobbit. Just as he expected, Merry was unharmed. He then chanced a brief glance to his side, where the Elf fought, not twenty paces away, his face a study in concentration as he struck out at his solitary attacker. The sound had not come from that one, for certain. And yet, just as Gimli returned his attention once more to dispatching his Orc, he heard the cry again.

He struck hard at the creature before him, driving him back and glanced again toward the Elf. A thin red line of blood stood out in stark contrast to the pale skin of the Elf's cheek. As the Elf stumbled back, away from the Orc, Gimli got a good look at a terrified Pippin standing now to the side of the staggering Elf, no longer shielded by his protector. A surge of fear gave Gimli renewed strength and he hefted his axe and with lethal force, hewed the Orc before him in two.

With a swift glance at Merry who stood on the ready, little sword clasped tightly in hand, Gimli jumped to Pippin's rescue. The Elf had recovered, somewhat, once again parrying the Orc's thrusts, effectively distracting the creature from Gimli's approach. With one well-placed slice of his axe, the Orc lost its head. Black blood spewed out, striking both Legolas and Pippin. The Elf paused, eyes searching to see if any other took the place of the fallen Orc. It appeared that the fighting had abated; both Boromir and Aragorn striking final blows to the only remaining assailants. Once assured all was safe, Legolas turned to Gimli and glaring, drew his sleeve deliberately across his face, swiping at the Orc blood that dotted his cheek and forehead. Gimli bristled. How dare the prissy-faced Elven idiot act as though Gimli had done nothing more than mar his perfect appearance! Why, if Gimli had not come along when he had, both Elf and hobbit might easily be dead now. But Gimli snapped his mouth shut on the oath he was about to utter and bit back the words he would have flung at the spoiled and ungrateful creature when he saw the sparkling red blood of the Elf mixed with black Orc blood on the Elf's sleeve.

"We must move on, quickly!" Aragorn was calling. "There might be more where those came from." The Elf shot Gimli one last withering look before taking Pippin by the shoulder, coaxing him forward. Gimli glared openly at the Elf's back before following. Oh, how he wanted to say something! But once again, with admirable restraint, he closed his mouth and held his tongue. He would not make Aragorn's life any more difficult if he didn't have to. He swallowed his anger and his angry words and continued on. They would have to rest again, surely…The hobbits could not go on like this much longer; it was obvious that Frodo and Sam both still suffered from their wounds. And so he trudged along, angrily forming in his mind what he would say to the Elf, once they did.

It did not take the Elf long to come up with an excuse to get away from the others once Aragorn had called a halt, announcing, as before, that he would scout the area. Gimli had a more difficult time of it – Aragorn would not allow a fire and so the pretext of gathering firewood would not work this time. He resorted to slipping away when the Ranger was occupied with quieting the hobbits who did not at all like the idea of a cold meal with no tea. He found the Elf easily. Once again the creature was beside the river that still paralleled their path, his hand to the clasps of his tunic. And once again, he was most displeased at being interrupted. He rose swiftly to his feet and rounded on the dwarf, outrage blazing in his eyes, his hands again curled into fists.

"What do you want, Dwarf?" he snarled.

"To talk with you, Master Elf," Gimli said, pushing down his own rising ire and forcing himself to sound as calm and composed as he possibly could.

"I do not wish to talk with _you_, Dwarf. Leave me!" The Elf took a step forward, glowering threateningly.

"You can talk with me, now, or you can explain yourself to Aragorn. I care not. It is your choice entirely," Gimli answered, keeping his voice even while folding his arms across his chest.

"Aragorn? What has he to do with you stalking me every time I leave camp?"

"I think he would be most interested in hearing what I have to say to you, that is all. In fact, I have been debating whether to say something to Aragorn instead of coming to you myself in his stead. However, I have decided, thus far, to give you first an opportunity to explain. I would not involve him if I don't have to. He has many more important problems to contend with right now than worrying about you."

Legolas cocked his head, confusion and curiosity both warring across his face. Gimli had to stifle a triumphant smile. With a frustrated snort, the Elf pulled back, folding his own arms across his chest.

"Say what you have to say, Dwarf. I don't have all day and I have a job to do."

"One that you almost failed at earlier."

Legolas started forward again, this time not stopping until he was directly in front of Gimli. He leaned close, pushing his face into Gimli's, his eyes boring into the dwarf's own. "You should take care of your own responsibilities, Dwarf,and I will care for mine. You abandoned your charge when you attacked that Orc – you left Merry unprotected!"

"Merry was fine. You, on the other hand, were bested by a goblin, Elf **–** a single, solitary goblin! I saw you stumble. You were the one to leave your charge unprotected. If I had not arrived when I did, who knows what might have happened? Both you and Pippin might now be lying in a shallow grave!"

"Nonsense!" Legolas shouted, his finger now pointing an inch from the tip of Gimli's nose. "I need no help from you, Dwarf ―"

"You are injured," Gimli broke in, not giving in to the very real desire to step back from the angry Elf. "Otherwise, I'm sure that one little Orc could not trouble you so. Though I do not care for you personally, Elf, I can make no quarrel with your skill as a fighter. Ten Orcs could not best you in normal circumstances. But, as I said, you are hurt." Gimli had stood his ground, albeit shakily, and rushed his words so that they tumbled over each other, not at all certain that the Elf wouldn't grace him with a well-placed punch to the face ere he could finish.

Legolas drew back his finger and straightened, the anger washed from his face by nothing less than shock. Gimli could not be sure if the shock was due to the fact that the dwarf had discovered his secret or that he had complimented the Elf's fighting skills. The archer took several steps back, his mouth still hanging agape in surprise. But he recovered quickly and shook his head. "You do not know what you are talking about," he growled, looking away as he did.

"I saw the blood. I know what I am talking about."

The Elf snapped back around again. "A simple swipe to the cheek is hardly enough to cause me to lose a fight, Dwarf. What - do you think I am frightened by the sight of my own blood?"

"That is not the blood I speak of." Legolas' pale cheeks flushed slightly, a sure sign that if he had not understood before that Gimli knew his secret, he certainly did now.

"I have no other wound," he asserted. But again his eyes wandered and Gimli began to suspect that he was not a good liar and either by device or experience, had developed the distinct habit of not looking at the one he was lying to.

"But you do," Gimli countered.

Legolas' attention was back full force with that comment and the Elf pinned him with a look, harsh, cold and – murderous - that made Gimli shudder. "Are you calling me a liar?" he snarled.

Gimli felt his heartbeat quicken. Once again, it was all he could do not to step back, even though they were now several feet apart. He had heard from others the effect an Elf's gaze could have on the uninitiated but there was little to be said that might prepare one for the reality of it. His embarrassment at his inability to control the shudder that caused his body to tremble and his anger at the flicker of amusement in the Elf's eyes as he recognized the effect he was having, gave the dwarf renewed strength. He would show this pointy-eared son of an Orc! Gimli forced a smile, which grew ten-fold when the glare on the Elf's face faltered and dimmed. "Yes I am," he answered, his voice steady and strong. "Yes, I am calling you a liar."

The Elf did not back down, even a little. "Prove it," he snapped.

Gimli had to wonder at the Elf's insistence. Surely, he must suspect that such proof existed or Gimli would not be standing there**.** Well, he wouldn't keep the silly creature waiting any longer. "It would be my pleasure," Gimli responded, digging a hand into his pocket and drawing out a tangled mess of soiled linen, covered with black and brown splotches that had, most assuredly been white at one time.

Legolas gave the article in Gimli's hand naught but a quick glance before lifting his chin and soundly ignoring it. This is none of your affair," he shot back. He had obviously, and perhaps desperately, been clinging to the hope that Gimli had merely guessed at the situation and had not known the truth. Or, a more likely scenario, given what Gimli knew of the Elf; the creature was so incredibly, ridiculously thick headed and stubborn, he would never deign to admit that he was wrong.

"I beg to differ," Gimli sniffed, in response. "I'm a member of this Fellowship and depend, at times, on your skills. I have a right to know whether they can be trusted. I have kept quiet out of respect for you as a member of that Fellowship but I will hear now, answers to my questions, or I will tell Aragorn what I know. It is that simple."

Legolas gave the roll of dirty linen another quick glance before looking away, into the trees, his lips stretched into a tight, thin line. A silent moment passed. "You can attempt to ignore me, Elf, for as long as you like – well, until Aragorn calls for us – and then, if you have given me no response or one that I am not satisfied with, then I will give this to him and let him settle this matter."

"What is it you wish to know?" Legolas snapped, still gazing off into the surrounding trees.

"How badly are you hurt? And why did you not say something?"

"It is a simple wound," he said, shrugging his slight shoulders. "I said nothing for just that reason. Aragorn – all of us – have enough worries right now. I know Aragorn. He will obsess over even a simple wound if only because everything else is so muddled. He already feels guilty about Gandalf. He will not risk something happening to me, as well, and so will make this molehill into a mountain. If it were something serious, I would bring it up to him myself."

Gimli could not argue that point; the Elf echoed his own reasons for keeping quiet. He was not yet, however, convinced. "But Aragorn, as our leader, has a right, to know the condition of those he relies upon," Gimli pointed out.

The Elf shrugged again. "I do not disagree with you. But it will only cause him to try to protect me. We do not have resources to allow for that. And - I need no protecting."

Gimli snorted. "Forgive me for once again mentioning, Master Elf, that you were nearly beat by a single, small Orc."

"I dispatched three before that one, _Master_ Dwarf," Legolas retorted, his attention at last brought back around as he glared, once again, at Gimli. "I was fighting four at one time, I might add. You saw only a moment of distraction after dispatching the third when the last remaining took advantage and slashed my cheek. My _cheek_, dwarf! Hardly an indicator that I cannot be trusted."

"But, you left Pippin unprotected."

"Nonsense, I did no such…" Something flashed in the Elf's eyes and he stopped, mid-retort. Gimli could almost see his mind turning as his brows knitted and his eyes narrowed. After a moment of silence, the archer took a deep breath and said, slowly, carefully, "Aye, I did at that. But it was for only a moment and had naught to do with my injury." Again, he stopped and this time frowned, as though something unpleasant had just occurred to him. He paused, his eyes still gazing into Gimli's but it was evident that his thoughts were no longer on the dwarf.

"Can you be sure of that?" Gimli pursued.

The silent moment drew out until Gimli became most uncomfortable, entertaining the notion that the Elf had slipped into unconsciousness though still standing on his feet. But at last, Legolas drew another deep breath, straightening as he did. "No," he said softly, all anger vanished from his voice. "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I cannot be sure." The anger had smoothed from his face as well, replaced by a sadness that was somehow – disquieting – more so than the Elf's anger had been. "And I am not willing to take that chance," he continued. "I will make certain that none of the Fellowship will be put in that position again. You have my word, Gimli."

Gimli was taken aback by the use of his given name, trying to remember another time when the Elf had done so. He couldn't. He shook off his shock, however and considered the distinct possibility that it was, perhaps the Elf's purpose to distract him with just such a manipulation. He agreed wholeheartedly with the idea of keeping this secret from Aragorn, as long as they would not be endangering anyone. He still required more convincing though, to be certain the decision was the right one - so let the Elf convince! "The only way to be sure of that is to tell Aragorn of your injury."

"Nay," Legolas answered without hesitation, shaking his head. "I know him well. He will worry himself to distraction and to the detriment of the Fellowship - over nothing. That will help no one." The Elf quickly gazed off into the trees at a point somewhere over Gimli's head and the dwarf had again an uneasy feeling that the tell-tale mannerism was indicative of an untruth. He had never spent any time at all in the presence of Elves but he possessed, for some reason, unbeknownst to himself, an astonishingly keen ability to read this one. He found it most unnerving to be connected in such an intimate way to someone that he altogether disliked. It made him feel somehow responsible for the addle-brained creature. Well, like it or not, responsibility had its demands. He might agree with what the Elf was saying, but he would have the whole truth and not whatever portion of it the Elf was attempting to placate him with.

"Very well," he answered. "I won't say anything."

The Elf's dark lashes fluttered against his pale skin as he blinked in surprise and turned his attention once again to Gimli. "You won't?" he responded, warily.

"No, I won't." A look of relief shot across the Elf's tense features.

"Only…"

Legolas' eyes at once narrowed with suspicion. "Only what," he snapped, capturing Gimli again in that fierce, unrelenting, Elven glare.

"Only, you must first show me your injury." Gimli returned the look, pleased that he was able to without flinching away this time, even if it had taken everything he had not to do so.

"And what would be the point of that?" Legolas spat, his voice once again filled with venom and anger. "Would you have any idea what you were seeing? Are you a healer? No, you are not - not unless you have chosen to keep an important skill secret from the Fellowship. Even though you are a dwarf, I cannot imagine you would stoop that low."

Gimli's own anger surged again and he was all but ready to hurl back a harsh retort of his own when suddenly, he felt as if a soothing hand had been placed upon his shoulder and he heard again the pleas of a kindly wizard in his ear, begging him to get along with this loathsome creature. _Stop_, would be the words Gandalf would say to him now – _stop and think_. And once again, Gimli recognized, quite easily, now that he took the time to stop and think, that he was clearly being manipulated. He suppressed a triumphant smile, realizing that such a thing would not help him accomplish his goal at this moment, far from it in fact, and answered, instead, "I am no healer, but I will see your wound and judge for myself. If I am satisfied with what I see, I will keep my mouth shut. And you, Elf, can shut your own and save yourself any more effort. I will not be dissuaded from this."

They stared at each other in silence, everything else around them forgotten. It was a war of wills, Gimli knew and it was one that he would win, everything being in his favour; Legolas could hardly refuse him. Yet still, the Elf stared, his eyes angry, hot, boring relentlessly into Gimli's. It seemed like hours later before he at last conceded to the obvious. Stubborn, he was indeed, beyond anything Gimli had encountered before, except for perhaps, himself.

"Very well," the Elf said, with a snap of his head. He spun on his heel and moved back to the river, Gimli following slowly. Legolas had no doubt been about to wash the wound, before Gimli had interrupted him, just as he had been doing the last time Gimli had interrupted, contrary to his first thought that the Elf was merely being vain and bathing – the bloody bandage still clutched in Gimli's hand attested to that. He had found it buried in the dirt and a bloody patch had stained the rock the Elf had rested against, the reason for Gimli's further investigation and subsequent discovery of the bandage. The Elf had managed, it seemed, to wash most of the blood from his tunic for Gimli could spot no sign of where Legolas had been injured but he knew, once again by the soiled bandage in his hand, that the Elf had bled. A lot.

Legolas sank heavily onto a rock and turned away, facing out across the gurgling stream. He made no effort to loosen his tunic and kept his back to Gimli. "We don't have much time, Master Elf," Gimli prodded. Legolas continued in his silence. Gimli worried for a moment that the Elf's discomfort with sharing what he would most likely see as a weakness with one he disliked so immensely would be stronger than his desire to keep Aragorn in the dark. But all at once the Elf's shoulders sagged and he sighed, deeply, a sound that took Gimli aback.

"Elf – er Legolas – are you alright?"

"I – I have not been entirely honest with you, Gimli," he answered, his voice so soft it was almost lost in the whisper of the wind in the leaves overhead and the gentle gurgle of the stream. Gimli felt confusion, not anger, not yet, for he had no idea to what the Elf referred.

"What do you mean by 'entirely'," he asked, carefully. He wished the dratted Elf would turn around so he could see the other's face, wondering briefly if Legolas had an idea that he could be read so clearly and so kept his face averted.

There was silence, a long silence broken at last by yet another heavy sigh. "It is not a simple wound that I bear," Legolas said, his voice tinged with what sounded like disappointment.

Gimli should have felt anger then, but instead, fear and dread twisted his stomach. Legolas did not put him in mind of one who complained for naught. "No?"

"I – should have told you the truth but I feared that you would not understand and would insist upon going to Aragorn. It is the truth that he will be worried, Gimli. And - rightfully so." The Elf sighed again before turning, at last, to face the dwarf. He looked ill again, as he had that first time he had escaped into the woods, only more so. Everything was there, plain to see upon his face: hurt; exhaustion; suffering. Pain caused his lips to tremble and his eyes to glaze over. Gimli went down on one knee at the Elf's feet and reached a hand to stay him as he slumped forward.

"Legolas?"

"It is fine, Gimli. I – just need a moment." He raised his head again and gave Gimli a weak smile. "I must apologize for trying to deceive you. It seemed the only thing to do at the time…"

"What happened?" Gimli interrupted. "What sort of wound do you bear?"

Legolas filled his lungs once, twice, before answering. Surprisingly, his voice was clear as he responded, as if the breaths had steadied him and given him strength. "At the Bridge of Khazad Dum. An arrow to my side. I snapped it off until I had time to try to pull it out but, somehow, it got hung up and twisted about my rib when I did. You are not the only one who is not a healer," he said, flashing a sheepish grin. "I have tried to remove it since and have only made the situation worse, I fear." Rather than returning the smile, Gimli's frown deepened. "It is not _that_ bad, Gimli, really," the Elf cajoled.

"I can see how bad it is, Legolas, just by looking at you," Gimli snapped.

"I am just tired," A cool hand closed over Gimli's where it clutched the Elf's arm. "But neither am I well. I will admit that to you. I will make it to Lórien. I must. But if Aragorn finds out about my injury – he has been my dearest friend for a long time now – he will not take the chance that I will survive until then and he will insist upon tending to me. He will try to heal the wound. Yet he cannot; not without rendering me unconscious and useless." Legolas' eyes focused again, all trace of humour vanished and Gimli was once more trapped in that powerful gaze. "I will not be able to travel and he will insist upon leaving someone behind to protect me – you perhaps?"

_Me!_

Gimli was quite sure that he hadn't given any indication of his alarm but the Elf seemed able to read him quite clearly, too. "That might be reason enough for you to keep my secret, eh, Master Dwarf?"

Gimli snatched his hand away but remained kneeling, his brow furrowed in thought. "That would leave the fellowship down to but two warriors."

"Yes," Legolas agreed. His gaze sharpened and when next he spoke it was with a fierceness that belied any wound or weakness. "I might not be able to fight as well as before, Gimli," he insisted, "but I can fight better than no one at all. We _must _stay together!"

"Aye." Gimli responded, half-heartedly. He had to agree, the Elf made sense, as much as he might hate to admit it. Not only because he hated the fact that he was agreeing with an Elf either – Legolas could be seriously injured and by agreeing, he was forgoing the possibility of the healer of their group having a chance to attempt to help. He sat back on his haunches and examined the Elf's face carefully. "Would Aragorn be of help to you, if he were told?"

Legolas blinked once before answering. "I – no, not out here. As I said, it is not a simple wound. I would be better served by the Healers in Lórien." The Elf blinked again and looked away. What a poor liar he was! "I will make it to Lórien," he continued, "even if he does nothing. I can do that Gimli, I must!" Even though he did not look in Gimli's direction, this time, Gimli did not doubt the truth of those words, that is, if the Elf had any choice in the matter. He would not have a choice, if Gimli revealed his secret to Aragorn.

And there was yet another consideration, Gimli realized. If he told Aragorn, it would put the man, the Elf's closest friend, in the position that Gimli now found himself – deciding the possible fate of the Elf. Wasn't it better for he himself to be in this situation, someone who found the Elf loathsome, bothersome and altogether irritating rather than someone who actually cared for the creature? He would be able to make the best decision, the right decision for the Fellowship as he would be unaffected by the emotions that would, no doubt, burden Aragorn. It should be an easy decision: What was best for the Fellowship? Simple. The Elf must stay on his feet; they needed to stay together, all of them, until they found safety in Lórien and they needed to reach safety as soon as possible, for all of their sakes. The Elf would be all right until then, Gimli was sure of it. Aragorn should not be told.

Gimli nodded his head. "Very well, Elf. I will keep your secret." The look of relief that washed over the Elf's pained features was quite rewarding. Gimli knew he had done the right thing - as if there had ever really been a question.

"Thank you, Gimli."

But something kept Gimli on his knees, a flutter of worry that tightened his stomach. He had convinced himself that this was the right thing to do but he was the responsible one here and as such, there was something more he should do. He should know just what sort of liability the Elf presented to the Fellowship as they continued. Gimli hesitated, a touch of fear curling through his insides, knowing that the archer would react badly if the dwarf equivocated, yet again. Surely he would think that Gimli was merely toying with him?

"Only…"

Legolas tossed his head back, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth where Gimli had expected him to show the same anger and suspicion as before, if not worse. But no. The crazy creature was smiling. Perhaps he could read Gimli as easily as Gimli could read him?

"Only what?" he chuckled. Gimli gulped.

"Only, you must first show me the wound."

Legolas hesitated only briefly, the smile on his face turning thoughtful, before nodding. "But we must hurry. Aragorn will be wondering where we are."

The wound was not simple. Not at all. It did not help Gimli feel any better about his decision. He was making a terrible mistake, he knew, on one level. Yes, this was what was best for the Fellowship, but this was not what was best for Legolas. The wound looked nasty. And poisoned. It bled unceasingly.

"It looks worse than it is, Gimli. I assure you." Gimli's eyes flicked to the Elf's. Legolas looked away at once and Gimli shuddered. But what else could they do?

"You will promise me Elf, to let me know when you are not able to continue. Or to defend yourself. Promise me!" Gimli demanded. "Look at me and promise!"

Legolas hesitated but at last relented. "I promise," he agreed, his eyes boring steadily into Gimli's own.

And Gimli wondered – was he really telling the truth? Or had he at last realized that the dwarf had learned his telltale trait? Only time would tell, Gimli realized - time, and possibly the sacrifice of a member of the Fellowship.


	3. Well, Maybe

Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies – not mine, no money, just for fun.

Please Note - this story is AU!

Thanks to my wonderful beta Sarah and to those who are reading this story. I can't thank you enough too, for letting me know you are out there, either through reviews or alerts or choosing this as a favorite story - I am thrilled and honoured to know you are reading and liking!!

Chapter 3

Well, Maybe

They had only just left their resting place and continued on their journey when the Orcs struck again. This time, Legolas provided ample warning, and Gimli located himself to the side of the Elf, Merry once again to his back. But as soon as the Orcs broke cover he turned and motioned Pippin to him, as well. The hobbit, though confused, seemed pleased enough to join his cousin and scampered over. Aragorn was anything but pleased, having seen what Gimli had done. He frowned and had just opened his mouth to protest when the Orcs attacked with full force.

When Gimli was able, he chanced a glance at Legolas and was comforted to see the Elf holding his own. In fact, he fought quite well. They made short work of the handful of goblins and Aragorn allowed them a few brief moments to catch their breath. Or at least, that is what he gave as the reason for not moving on at once, but Gimli realized quickly that the Ranger had other motives, as well. He grabbed Legolas by the arm and motioned Gimli to follow, guiding them both a short distance from the others, just out of earshot. And Gimli soon discovered why. Aragorn was angry. _Very_ angry.

"What was that all about?" he demanded, dropping the Elf's arm and rounding on the dwarf.

"What do you mean?" Legolas interjected from behind, all calm and innocence.

"I do not speak to you, Prince," Aragorn growled over his shoulder.

"Gimli," Legolas remarked, smirking, "I believe you are in trouble."

"This is not meant to be amusing, Legolas," Aragorn snapped, his eyes still trained on Gimli. "For some reason, Gimli has decided that you cannot take care of yourself, or your charge, and I will understand why!"

"Nonsense, Aragorn." Legolas straightened and stiffened, his voice turning serious. "You were too far away from us, obviously, to have seen things properly."

"Again, I say, Legolas," Aragorn answered, not turning around. "I am speaking to Gimli and ask him to answer, for he is the one that I deem at fault here. He is the one who motioned Pippin over to his side and away from yours when your back was turned. I saw this quite clearly. I was _not_, as you suggest, too far away. And he is the one who allowed his attention to drift constantly to check on you as if he did not trust you to fight your own battles. Now, I ask you, Master dwarf. Why is that?"

"Well…I say…Uh…I-I-I can't say…," Gimli stammered.

"That is an absurd question, Aragorn," Legolas intervened again. "And you know it."

Aragorn kept his keen gaze fixed on Gimli as he asked, "Absurd? How is it absurd?"

"Because, you know quite well that the dwarf finds me useless. He has said so often enough, questioning why I was even included on this quest, given that I am more hindrance than help."

Gimli's bushy brows shot up and heat suffused his face, "Why, I never…" but his burst of anger was short-lived when he realized that he had said those very words on several occasions. He just hadn't realized that the Elf had overheard him. He felt the heat in his face again, this time not from anger but from embarrassment.

"Is it so hard to believe that he would come to my rescue," Legolas continued, "knowing how he feels about me and my abilities, or rather," Legolas cocked his head and grinned at Gimli from over Aragorn's shoulder, "my lack thereof?"

"No, it is not. You may go, Legolas," Aragorn said, his eyes never leaving Gimli's. The Elf shot an amused glance at the dwarf, shrugged and began to turn away.

"Legolas!" Gimli growled. "You will not leave me…"

"I have been ordered by our Captain. I really have no choice." Legolas dipped his head in something akin to a bow before ambling back to join the others, leaving Gimli alone with a wrathful Aragorn.

"Well, Master Dwarf, what have you to say for yourself?" Gimli was furious. Legolas seemed quite confident that he would not divulge the Elf's secret, leaving him to take Aragorn's verbal thrashing alone and in silence. He grimaced, gritted his teeth and straightened. No less than a quarter of an hour later, Gimli could say only that he was pleased that Aragorn was not his father. He had never experienced such a dressing down in all of his born days and done in such a quiet, measured voice. No one else in the Fellowship, save the Elf, had any idea that Aragorn had been discussing anything more than the weather.

Said Elf, looking quite pleased with himself, sidled up to Gimli not long after they had once more begun their journey and, with a broad smile and a wink, said, "Thank you." Nothing else – just thank you.

_It was hardly enough_, Gimli thought, _hardly enough at all_. That was, until Gimli was reminded of that same face, twisted in agony, earlier that day at the river. He offered up a sharp nod instead of the harsh words that had chased through his head. "Think nothing of it," he whispered. "But I cannot wait until it is your turn on the receiving end of that thrashing, lad. And I intend to bear witness; I'll have you know. I believe I've earned the right."

Without slowing, Legolas again offered up a slight bow in Gimli's direction. "It is the least I can do to thank you, my friend."

Friend? Gimli felt his mouth drop open and Legolas chuckled. The Elf straightened and with swift steps, left Gimli behind and alone with his thoughts.

_Friend?_ Had Gimli heard correctly? Had the Elf just called him friend? It was an impossibility that he could feel anything of the sort. He was just beholden and anxious to make sure Gimli stayed his course. A dwarf could never be friends with an Elf. But as he stared at the fading figure of the archer, he knew that he did indeed feel something other than distrust, or anger, or hatred; all emotions that he had felt from the start of this journey. In fact, there had only been a few brief moments when he had felt anything but. He thought back to those now and remembered the curiosity and pity that he had felt for this strange creature, instead.

Any time they had stopped to rest, the Elf found a position away from the others and set himself to watch. He would stand apart, unaffected by the Hobbit's playfulness, not drawn into the conversations between them, or the Men, or Gandalf. He would remain aloof, as if he could not bring himself to stoop so low as to mix with the rest of them. Gimli knew the Elf was of the Royal House of Oropher, but Aragorn was heir to the High Kinship of Men and Boromir was the son of the Steward of Gondor and they did not act as if they were better than everyone else! Not like the Elf. This behaviour had begun to grate on Gimli's nerves **–** not that it required much for the Elf to have that effect on him **–** and he had said as much to Aragorn at some point along the way. The Ranger had laughed at him but had sobered quickly, admonishing Gimli to be more appreciative of the fact that he had the Elf to stand guard, giving the rest of them a chance to relax and recuperate. "He will be ever vigilant, though it wears on his spirit," he had said. He had paused a moment before adding, "which has already endured enough suffering."

Gimli had not asked what suffering, though the words had piqued his curiosity. This revelation about Legolas was at odds with Gimli's own impressions - the Elf had seemed a tad flighty to him, given to sudden bursts of laughter and not above tying the Ranger's bootlaces together or putting pepper in the pipe weed. If his spirit were worn, he hid it quite well, other than that perpetual wariness that kept him ever alert and aware. Gimli would never have suspected that Legolas had known suffering if Aragorn had not told him.

Not long after, an incident occurred that had piqued Gimli's curiosity even further. The Fellowship had stopped for a brief respite when the Elf, once again on guard, gave a sudden cry. Boromir had leapt to his feet, the scrape of metal against metal signalling the drawing of his sword. The hobbits had frozen, food and drink in hand, mouths hanging open, their happy chatter silenced. Gandalf and Aragorn had risen to their feet too, though they had not reached for a weapon, almost as if they both could sense no fear in the sound.

And, in fact, there was nothing to fear, only the crazy Elf, standing on a boulder, surrounded by a bevy of colourful butterflies, their blue, green and gold wings in stark contrast to the pale hair and skin of the Elf. "Look!" he had cried again, "what are these marvellous creatures?" He laughed then, his laugh chiming, as a child's giggle might, not a sound that should have come from a seasoned warrior. That alone should have disgusted Gimli to his core, but it was a sound so full of joy - pure, unadulterated joy – the likes of which Gimli had never before heard. He watched in awe as the Elf began to twirl on the boulder, somehow managing to keep his balance as he did, the butterflies ebbing and flowing in the currents created by the graceful movements of his arms.

Gimli came to his senses and realized he had been staring, his mouth hanging open like a fool and in his embarrassment he lashed out, growling, "They are butterflies you idiot! Haven't you ever seen a butterfly before?"

"Ah, butterflies," the Elf said, laughing again. The hobbits joined him, dancing around the boulder, swept up in the magic of the Elf's wonder. "I guess I'd better keep watch since he obviously isn't paying any attention," Gimli had grumbled, reaching for his axe and stomping off.

"Grant him this one moment to enjoy, Gimli," Aragorn had called after him. "They have no butterflies in Mirkwood."

"What!?" Gimli remembered well his shock.

"It is true," the Ranger had said. "The spiders eat them before they can leave their cocoons." Gimli had turned back to gaze once again at the laughing, exuberant Elf and had wondered what sort of horrible place this Mirkwood was if spiders could devour every butterfly in existence. And, more importantly, how could one live there and yet still be able to laugh with such abandon?

Gimli had felt pity then, added to his curiosity, but had not allowed either feeling to develop into anything. He had snorted at Aragorn's words and had taken up his post on guard, and at the first opportunity, he had made certain the Elf had known that he had stood watch while the other had played. Now, looking back, Gimli felt shame.

He wouldn't have felt shame before this moment. He would likely never have allowed himself even to remember the event. And now, remembering he allowed himself too, to admit that he was still curious about the strange creature that had never seen a butterfly and could express his joy so fully and wondrously at such a sight that it gladdened the hearts of everyone around him. And seeing how he was allowing things, he allowed also to admit that he was amazed at the Elf's resilience, his strength, his skill, the power of his senses, not only to the dangers around him but to the hobbit's needs, and to Aragorn's worry. It was the Elf who had requested them to stop as often as not, though he felt no fatigue himself, or if he did, he took no rest. It was the Elf who had sought out a weary and stressed Aragorn on many occasions and left the Ranger laughing, his spirits lightened, afterwards.

Gimli never would have allowed himself to admit any of this, even to himself, he was certain, if his concern for the Elf and his "simple" wound hadn't broken through the wall he had placed between him and anything positive he might feel for the strange creature -

Friend?

Well –

Maybe…

&

With growing concern, Gimli watched as Legolas' steps became slower and less rhythmic, his stumbles more frequent. He even took it upon himself at one point to request a rest - "for the hobbits sake" - he had whispered to Aragorn, though the little folk actually seemed to be keeping pace with their longer legged companions. Thankfully, Aragorn was distracted enough not to notice that the hobbits were not the ones requiring rest. He was still, no doubt, in shock from Gandalf's death, having to come to grips, not only with the loss of a dear friend, but with the elevation of his status from protector to leader. Now that he had the fear of Orc attacks to worry him and the success or failure of their quest resting squarely on his shoulders, Aragorn had little time to concern himself with the one member of the Fellowship who did not tire, get sick or hungry and who, for the most part, demonstrated a relatively even disposition, aside from his attitude toward anything to do with a certain dwarf. Gimli felt fairly certain that the change in their relationship, the lack of baiting and bothering between them, would be the only thing that might raise Aragorn's suspicions.

When Gimli pointed to the hobbit's needs then, as a reason to stop, Aragorn accepted the logic and sensibility of that request and called for a rest break. Gimli was relieved that all four hobbits immediately dropped to the ground, Pippin actually stretching out and closing his eyes. Legolas vanished into the woods, this time without speaking with Aragorn first. Gimli mumbled something about scouting the area and took off after the Elf. He found him seated, leaning against the trunk of a tree, tearing at his tunic with shaking fingers.

"Here, let me help," Gimli said, kneeling at the Elf's side. Legolas started. He had not even been aware of Gimli's presence, giving the dwarf no measure of comfort at all. The bandage, when at last revealed, was soaked with blood.

Legolas produced a fresh replacement from some hiding place in his tunic. "The last, I'm afraid," he said as he handed it over, his hand shaking from that simple effort. "We shall be reduced to tearing up your blanket if we do not reach Lórien soon, Gimli," he quipped, following the light words with a weak attempt at a grin while tucking his traitorous hand out of sight beneath his thigh.

Gimli snorted, refusing to be distracted from his worry as, was no doubt, the Elf's intent. He was becoming quite familiar with Legolas' wiles. The Elf was a master at manipulation, using anger or humour or embarrassment, whatever emotion seemed best to fit the moment, to deflect or direct those around him. Gimli was not falling for it, not this time, though he had every belief that when he wasn't completely consumed by worry, he would have to be on constant guard to make sure he stayed that course. "Jest all you want, Elf, but I need to bandage this wound before you bleed a trail of blood that leads the Orcs right to us. Do you mind?"

Legolas gave in and collapsed against the trunk of the tree, his eyes closed, his breath coming in short gasps, allowing Gimli a free hand to rewrap the wound. "I know my strength appears to be…flagging, Gimli," he said, softly, as if sensing Gimli's concern. "But I just needed…a brief respite. Thank you…for helping. I am fine."

"I am fine," Gimli muttered under his breath as he worked. "I am fine. I am fine. Do you know how many times you have said that to me in the last five hours?" He carefully removed the soaked bandage and quickly began to rewrap the wound, troubled by how freely blood still flowed from it. "You are _not_ fine and we should tell Aragorn, _now_."

The Elf gasped and his eyes flew open. Strong, slender fingers gripped the dwarf's wrist. "Gimli, you promised. You cannot - please! We are so close now. Just a few more days and…and…we will be there." Gimli refused to raise his eyes from his task to look at the pleading Elf, knowing that he would find Legolas' iron will to be difficult to refuse. And yet, he knew also that this fear that was making his stomach hurt also could not be ignored. Legolas was far from fine. He might very well not make it to Lórien. And if he should collapse?

As if reading his thoughts, Legolas continued on, hurriedly, as if worried his strength would fail him before he would be able to say what he needed to say, which certainly would not help his case, at all. "If I fall, it will be no different than if you were to tell Aragorn now," he asserted. "He will not allow me to continue on this trek. As I've said before, he will want to…to haul me, or carry me, or, more than likely, leave me behind with…with one of you to watch over me. How would that be different than if I faint dead away while walking?"

"It's the dead part that bothers me, Elf," Gimli grumbled.

Legolas grinned, the lines of pain that surrounded his mouth and eyes vanishing and the beauty of the Eldar shining through once again, leaving Gimli to wonder, for the briefest of moments, whether this was all a monumental trick that the Elf was playing on him. "I believe you are beginning to like me, Gimli," he chuckled causing Gimli's cheeks to flame.

"Elves are brainless, silly creatures," Gimli muttered, tightening the bandage around Legolas' middle. The Elf's grin dissolved into a grimace of pain and he gave a soft moan.

"I am sorry!" Gimli cried, reaching up to grab Legolas' elbow.

"No, no, think nothing of it. I'm…just…catching…my breath." The grin was back on Legolas' face, though obviously forced and the face was pale with a thin sheen of perspiration beading his upper lip and brow. Elves do not perspire, Aragorn had told Gimli once when he had groused that the Elf seemed completely unaffected by the heat, his own sodden brow requiring a constant mopping as they plodded along one particularly hot and humid day. Gimli finished tying off the bandage as gently as he could, then pulled his water flask from his belt and opened it, handing it to the Elf. Even as Legolas accepted the flask and raised it to his lips, Gimli was forced to keep a steadying hand around the bottom, noticing with another stab of fear, just how badly the Elf's hand shook.

Legolas drank, deeply, dropping his hand back to his lap as soon as he was finished, his eyes, once more, fluttering closed. "I will not deny that I am growing weaker," he whispered, resting his head against the trunk of the tree.

"For that would be foolish," murmured Gimli, watching the Elf with concern.

"Yes. Foolish."

They were quiet for a moment, the stillness of the forest broken only by the song of the Silverlode as it bubbled and gurgled on its way and by Legolas' short, staccato breaths. The Elf's voice broke the silence. "I will make it Gimli, I swear it," he whispered.

"You had better, Elf. I will not have this on my head."

"Ah, Gimli," Legolas replied, a wry smile touching his lips. "Be comforted. I'm certain your father would salute you."

"That is not fair, Elf," Gimli snapped, capping the water skin with a hard slap of his palm before scrambling to his feet and planting his hands firmly on his stout hips. "I have never wished for, nor would I celebrate your demise."

Legolas' eyes flew open and he raised an unsteady hand, palm out. "Peace, Gimli. No, that was unfair of me. You have been nothing but a friend to me and I thank you for it. Please accept my apology."

"Well. Um." Gimli felt heat flush his cheeks and he folded his arms across his chest, forcing his attention to a stone at his feet, which he immediately began to poke with his toe. There it was again, that "friend" word. It made him most uncomfortable. "Um," he repeated, clearing his throat. "Um, quite alright."

"We'd best be getting back, I think. Don't you?" Legolas rescued him from his discomfort.

"Yes, yes, we had better before Aragorn comes looking for us," Gimli answered. He extended his hand to the Elf who took it, without hesitation, reminding Gimli of the few times early on in their journey when he had occasion to have to come in bodily contact with the Elf and how uncomfortable both of them had been, avoiding it at all cost. He had entertained, quite seriously in fact, the idea of dropping over the edge rather than experience Legolas' arms wrapped around him on the bridge at Moria. This time, Gimli did not even flinch when the Elf's hand clutched his own nor did he hesitate to grasp the Elf by the waist when he swayed, once on his feet.

"Don't say it, Gimli," Legolas warned. "You know that what we do is right." The Elf pushed away from Gimli's support and, miraculously, began to walk with almost steady steps, back toward where they had left the others.

_Then why, pray tell, does it feel so wrong?_ Gimli thought, following behind, his own steps heavy with dread.


	4. The Trees of Lórien

Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies – not mine, no money, just for fun.

Please Note - this story is AU!

Thanks to my beta Sarah who takes time from an unbelievably busy schedule to keep me on track. Thanks too to those who are reading and special thanks to those of you who let me know you are enjoying - you really know how to shore up my confidence and keep me going - thank you!!

Chapter 4

The Trees of Lórien

In the end, it wasn't Orcs or Wargs or even blood loss that brought Legolas down, but rather, something totally unexpected. Aragorn had deemed it safe to rest once evening had come and they had passed across the Nimrodel. Cold rations were passed around and Legolas sang to them of the Elven maiden who once lived beside the waters. His voice had been clear and fair, as always, if over soft. Gimli could not tell if the lack of volume spoke to the spell cast by the peaceful place where they rested, or whether it was because the Elf had no strength left with which to do otherwise. The Dwarf found himself caught up in the song despite his concerns. Until, that is, Legolas' voice faltered.

Gimli took to his feet at once. Legolas shot him a warning look while offering up some excuse about not remembering more of the verse. Gimli hesitated. Aragorn was looking at him curiously while the rest of the group waited patiently for Legolas to resume his story. Holding Gimli's eye, he did continue, his voice still soft but with a harder edge to it, "It is long and sad for it tells how sorrow came upon Lothlórien, Lórien of the Blossom, when the Dwarves awakened evil in the mountains,"(1) words which sounded quite plainly to be a rebuke against the Dwarves, at least to Gimli's ears.

He lost no time refuting the Elf's words, and sharply, at that. "But the Dwarves did not make the evil," he shot back. No sooner had the words left his mouth, than he began to wonder if this weren't another of Legolas' attempts to manipulate him, and Aragorn in his wake - he had responded just as he might have before the Elf's injury and their forced cooperation. If Aragorn's suspicions had been aroused, Gimli's typically harsh response would have done much to alleviate them.

Legolas' own response to Gimli's sharp words was not returned in kind. He replied, instead, that he had not said that the Dwarves made the evil, only that it had come, his voice sounding sad and Gimli would have said, apologetic, as well and Gimli took it as such, nodding his head slightly before once again taking his seat. The Elf continued on with his tale, in words rather than song, telling of the unknown fate of Nimrodel and Amroth and how it was told that their voices still carried in the wind when springtime came, Nimrodel's beside the falls that bear her name and Amroth's, up from the sea, to whence the Nimrodel flows. As Legolas went on to describe how Nimrodel and the Lórien Elves had once built their houses in the great trees of their forest, Gimli found himself commenting that it did not sound like a bad idea for these present times either, surprised that he had voiced such sentiment. He would sooner spend the night back in the mines of Moria, Balrog included, than in a tree.

He was even more surprised, or perhaps it would be better described as utterly dismayed, to hear Aragorn agree that it was indeed a good idea and with a sweep of his hand, the Ranger motioned them up and toward a deeper part of the wood. "We will rest here," he said, reaching a hand out to pat the roughened bark of a giant tree beside him. "These are the great Mallorn trees of Lórien and should offer solid shelter." It was all Gimli could do not to kick himself.

"I will see if there is a spot that a hobbit or dwarf might find comfortable," Legolas said, shooting Gimli a grin before springing into a tree even taller than the one Aragorn stood beneath. While balancing on a branch more than twice a man's height up, the Elf grabbed hold of another to swing himself even higher into the tree. He hung, suspended for a moment, his legs swinging gently, back and forth. Gimli held his breath. They had all watched the Elf perform this feat many times before when the distance between handholds was greater than his considerable reach; a single swing of his legs and then he would seem to fly through the air, grasping a branch without effort, at some point even higher up in whatever tree he was climbing at the time. This time, however, the Elf swayed back and forth, once, twice and then, one hand let loose. Gimli heard a loud gasp, realizing as he did that it was his own sudden and desperate intake of air. The others, so used to the Elf's amazing acrobatics, were not even watching.

"Legolas!" Gimli shouted as he rushed toward the base of the tree. He almost made it in time though the most he could have done would have been to serve as a hard pillow for the Elf's plummeting body, probably not much softer than the ground he landed upon instead. Gimli dropped and slid on his knees the last few feet to end almost precisely at the Elf's side. Aragorn had taken a moment to process what was happening but with his long legs and sharp reflexes was shortly on his knees too, beside the Elf.

"Legolas!" he shouted, an echo of Gimli's panicked voice. "Are you all right?" _Of course he wasn't all right_, Gimli thought. _He couldn't be_. But the Elf's eyes were open and blinking, so he at least wasn't dead. Yet.

"Fine. I am…uh…fine," Legolas stammered.

_Fine_? Gimli wanted to scream.

"What happened?" Aragorn demanded, his eyes roving the branches above them.

"I – nothing. I – slipped. Fell." The Ranger's eyes dropped swiftly back to the Elf's face and narrowed. At any other time Gimli would have laughed aloud at the look of utter disbelief on Aragorn's face.

"You _what_?"

Legolas' cheeks flushed, slightly, and he bit his lower lip. "I – slipped," he repeated, hesitantly, knowing, no doubt, how ridiculous he sounded. Gimli would have felt sorry for the proud Elf having to admit such a failure, if, that is, he weren't so angry with the infuriating creature. What business had he climbing a tree in his condition? He could have easily got himself killed!

"You slipped," Aragorn said, arching his brows, the doubt in his voice echoing the disbelief in his face. "Impossible."

Legolas' brow furrowed. "Yes, I know. Difficult to believe. But these trees…." He raised his eyes upwards and swept the branches above, desperately, as if searching for some inspiration, an answer that would wipe the doubt from Aragorn's face and end this discussion. All at once he brightened. "Yes, the trees…not something I'm used to. Quite different from Mirkwood trees." _Pathetic_, Gimli thought, not up to the Elf's usual standards, but then, he had more poison than blood left flowing in his veins by now and who knew what damage had just been done to his already addled brain by his fall.

Aragorn looked as if he would sooner believe that Sauron had given up his quest for the one ring than he would fall for the Elf's ridiculous story. "Hmm. Well. I'll look you over, make sure you are indeed fine and then we can decide if the idea of making our beds in trees that an Elf can fall out of is such a good one after all."

Legolas began to squirm. "No, really Aragorn," he protested, swatting at the Ranger's hands as they began to rove first down his arms and then his legs, searching for broken bones. "I am fine. I don't need you to…"

"Nonsense," Aragorn admonished, calmly, "You just fell twenty feet out of a tree. Of course I'm going to look you over." He deftly deflected the Elf's attempts to slow him, resorting at one point to capturing both slender wrists in his strong grip and pinning them to Legolas' chest, while continuing his careful examination with his free hand. His movements were smooth and practiced, as if he had played this game with the Elf before and Legolas, in his present state, hadn't a hope of winning. Once satisfied with his initial examination, the Ranger dropped Legolas' hands and began to tug at the top clasp of the archer's tunic. "Just let me get this open so I can better check your ribs and back." Legolas' eyes widened in panic and he reached for Gimli's shoulder, grasping it tightly, shooting him a look of desperation. It was then that Gimli realized that all of Legolas' squirming and swatting was because that was all he _could_ do. He hadn't the strength to pull himself up to enable his escape from Aragorn's prying hands.

"No! Aragorn, I'm fine," Legolas squeaked. "Really, I am. Right, Gimli? Gimli!"

It was time now, for Gimli to act. He should stop Aragorn, side with the Elf, tell the Ranger that he had seen the Elf fall and it had not been twenty feet but more like ten. That the Elf had not landed hard. He should offer a hand and help him to sit, stand, flee! Legolas tugged hard on Gimli's shoulder. All Gimli had to do was to straighten up and it would probably give the Elf enough of a boost to pull him to a sitting position. If he would offer a hand to Legolas' elbow, he could probably even stand without garnering too much questioning from the Ranger who had just released the first clasp of the Elf's tunic and was moving on to the second. Gimli bit his bottom lip.

They were so close to Lórien! Only a few days away surely. Two days, maybe three. Just two more days and Legolas would have the help he needed and the Fellowship would remain intact. Two more days and Aragorn would have only this brief moment of concern for the Elf's well-being to cloud these days already filled with worry. He'd be angry, of course, and they would pay a price for that anger, surely, but the Ranger would have been saved the pain of fearing for his friend's life and saved the indecision of what to do about it.

Legolas' brow was furrowed in concentration, as if he were willing himself to rise. But his face was inordinately pale, his lips bloodless, the shine in his eyes appearing feverish to Gimli's now practiced eye, a sheen of perspiration on his upper lip and forehead. Elves don't perspire, Gimli told himself again; Aragorn had said so.

Two day…

Gimli heaved a sigh. _Two days too many_, he decided and without a word, he placed his hand over Legolas' where it rested on his shoulder – and – removed it, settling it gently to the Elf's side. "Do you need any help, Aragorn?" he asked, turning to look at the Ranger, ignoring the sight of Legolas' eyes flying open and his lips parting in a silent cry. He looked as if Gimli had slapped him squarely across the face.

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Aragorn said, cutting off anything Legolas might have attempted to say or do, at that point. "See if you can start from the bottom. These clasps are quite a challenge and we need to finish here and get the hobbits bedded down. We will need an early start in the morning. We are perhaps two days away, at my best guess."

Two days.

Legolas capitulated, his other hand dropping limply to his chest – what else could he do without Gimli to aid him? He stared straight up into the bough of the tree, ignoring Aragorn and Gimli as they worked the clasps of his tunic.

"You could help too, Legolas," Aragorn admonished. "You know better than anyone how to undo these." The Elf's cold eyes flicked to Aragorn's, briefly, before returning to stare up into the tree, his lips drawn into a firm pout. Aragorn rolled his eyes and returned to the task at hand. The last clasp undone, he opened the tunic. Legolas had managed to remove all signs of blood from the outside of his garment and Gimli had not even been able to discern the hole that the arrow had made when it went through the fabric into the Elf's side. But he had not taken time to perform the same feat on his undergarment; it was stiff with blood. Aragorn, of course, noticed the blood and that it was dried blood did not escape his keen observation either.

"Ai! What is this? Legolas, you are wounded!" he cried, even as he carefully rolled the undergarment up, exposing the soiled bandage that encircled the Elf's chest. "When did this happen and why did you not tell me?"

"You may ask Gimli your questions," the Elf answered, sullenly. _Friends_, Gimli huffed. Hah! Only so long as Gimli did as the Elf requested, it seemed, were they friends. If he didn't, he was thrown to the wolves.

"I'm asking _you_," Aragorn snapped with barely controlled fury. Gimli was reminded of his recent dressing down by the Ranger and smiled to himself, knowing that Legolas' turn might soon be coming. But then the wound was exposed fully and he heard Aragorn's sharp intake of breath. "No more games, Legolas. Tell me now, when did this happen and how?"

He probed the wound gently with his finger and it was Legolas' turn to gasp. "Ai! Aragorn! Cease!"

"Dear Valar, Legolas, there is still an arrow in there!"

"I know, believe me, I know," Legolas hissed in pain and gritted his teeth. "Moria. It happened in Moria."

"When?"

"The Bridge," Gimli answered, receiving a sharp look from Aragorn in reply.

"And just how long have you known about this?"

"He hasn't known for very long, Aragorn," Legolas defended. "And I forced him into keeping my secret. He really had no choice." Legolas shot Gimli a look of pure malice before continuing. "You know how easily Dwarves can be manipulated."

"What!" Gimli sputtered, rocking back on his haunches. "Why, you have some nerve Elf, after all I've done…"

"Not now Gimli," Aragorn interrupted. "Save it for when we have time and then I will expect an accounting from both of you."

"It is a simple wound, Aragorn," Legolas broke in, ignoring the narrowing of Gimli's eyes. "A bandage is all that is required. Some athelas perhaps? That should be quite sufficient to see me to Lórien…"

"Quiet, Elf," Aragorn snapped. "I don't want to hear another word from you, unless it is to answer my questions. You – are – in – deep – trouble, Legolas. Deep! Understood?" Legolas pursed his lips into a pout once more and settled his head to stare off into the tree. "I need light, Gimli," Aragorn commanded. "We will need a fire." Boromir and the hobbits had been watching quietly and staying out of the way until Aragorn spoke and then all dissolved into a flurry of motion.

"We'll gather some wood," Merry and Pippin offered in unison, dashing at once into the trees.

"Boromir, go with them, please," Aragorn directed. "They shouldn't wander around unprotected."

"Of course," the Man responded. "Will he be alright?" he asked, stopping mid pursuit to glance back at Legolas.

"If I can remove the arrow and he can rest," was Aragorn's terse reply. Boromir gave one last look at the Elf before following after the energized hobbits. Sam was already removing the pot from his pack and filling it with water.

Frodo knelt beside Gimli. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked.

"Yes, if you could get my pack for me," Aragorn requested. The hobbit was up and rushing to the packs at once.

"You have everyone worried," Aragorn muttered, under his breath. "I hope you are satisfied."

"Yes, of course," Legolas answered, crossly, not taking his eyes from the tree above, "and I would tell you just how satisfied I was to get shot with an arrow but I have been told to hold my tongue."

"You should have said something sooner, Legolas," Aragorn chastised, ignoring the archer's mood while he removed the soiled bandage from the Elf's chest. "Why didn't you?"

"I – had my reasons." Legolas flashed a look at Gimli before returning his gaze to the tree above. Aragorn did not miss the look, however, and turned questioning eyes on Gimli who chose to merely shrug. He was in deep trouble too, he knew.

Frodo returned with Aragorn's pack and the others with firewood. They began to work at once on a fire. Aragorn riffled through his pack and pulled out several packages of herbs and powders. That caught the Elf's attention and his gaze swivelled from the tree to the packets in Aragorn's hands, his eyes widening at the sight.

"No, Aragorn, you cannot drug me!" he pleaded. "I am fine. Do what you think you must but you need me conscious and able to move. We are so close to our destination. I can make it if you don't put me to sleep!" Gimli clamped his mouth shut on a warning to the Elf to recall the Ranger's command not to talk. But Aragorn's face had already softened and Gimli had a feeling that the Man understood exactly why Legolas had done what he had done.

"Legolas," Aragorn said, his voice suddenly gentle and soothing. "You can go no further and you know it. I have to remove this arrow. It is poisoned. The poison is not allowing your blood to clot and you have lost far too much already. Once I remove the arrow, you will need to stay put until the poison that remains has passed through your system so that your wound can heal. It won't be today or tomorrow. It might take a week considering what you have put your body through. You will stay here until you are healed and that is final."

"You will have to leave me then," Legolas said, flatly, as if he were the one making the decision. "Put me in one of these trees with some water and I will be fine. Orcs do not climb trees searching for Elves. You have no other choice, Aragorn."

Aragorn sighed heavily. "I haven't decided what I will do. Right now, I will see to your wound. That is what is most important."

"I will not take your medicines, Aragorn," Legolas declared, glaring at the Ranger, defiantly, shaking his head, even as it rested against the ground. "Not unless you promise not to drug me into a stupor as you seem to delight in doing."

"I promise I will not drug you into a stupor," the Ranger agreed as he crumbled some leaves in his hands and placed his open palms beneath the Elf's nose. "Breath deeply. These are for the pain."

Legolas turned his face away. "I do not need them. The pain is tolerable."

"Perhaps now," Aragorn countered, growing visibly frustrated. "But I will have to cut you open in order to remove the arrow. It is lodged behind your ribs. You are lucky that you haven't punctured a lung," he pointed out, testily. "You may not hurt now, but I can't risk you screaming our location out to every Orc within a hundred leagues of here when I cut into you."

"I will do no such…"

"Silence!" Aragorn interrupted. "You can make promises when you are the only one who will suffer if you break them, Legolas, but this quest has everything to do with someone else and you have a responsibility to think of that individual and not yourself. Do I make myself clear?"

Legolas blinked at the Ranger and a silent battle of wills ensued between them. But Aragorn's words rang true and after a moment, Legolas gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head. Aragorn shoved his hands beneath the Elf's nose again and this time, Legolas acquiesced, breathing in, deeply.

"Gimli?" Aragorn turned to face the dwarf. "Would you bring some water, please? These herbs tend to make one thirsty." Gimli rocked to his feet, but not before being on the receiving end of a surreptitious wink by the Ranger. Apparently, the man had something more in store for the Elf. Sure enough, when he returned with the water, Gimli noticed that the defiant glint that had been in Legolas' eye even as he had breathed in the herbs was gone, replaced with a glazed look. But the Elf was still conscious and Aragorn had, so far, kept his word. As Gimli removed the stopper from the water flask, he felt a pressure on his arm. Aragorn glanced to a small packet on the ground near Legolas' feet. With a quick check to make sure the Elf wasn't watching, Gimli grabbed it up. He opened it and poured the contents into the flask, replacing the stopper and gently shaking the contents together.

"Drink?" he asked, leaning over the Elf

"Yes, please," Legolas responded, groggily. Aragorn's arm wrapped behind his shoulders to help ease him up. "I am suddenly very thirsty. But conscious. Thank you Aragorn for not lying to me, for once in your life." Gimli raised the flask to the Elf's lips.

"Think nothing of it, Legolas. I am your friend," Aragorn answered, innocently. "You should learn to trust me." Gimli thought the Ranger might better have left well enough alone, for the Elf's brow arched and he paused, his mouth inches from the flask. But thirst won out over caution. With shaking hand, he took the water skin from Gimli, lifted it to his lips and began to drink. Even with his senses dulled by whatever Aragorn had him breathe earlier, the Elf was able to detect something strange about the water. He pulled away from the flask, understanding dawning suddenly in his face. Gimli was far faster than an injured and drugged Elf, however. He slipped one hand behind Legolas' head and with the other, crushed the flask to his lips, forcing the liquid into the Elf's mouth. Legolas gagged and sputtered but was forced to either swallow the liquid or drown and the Elf, for the most part, chose to swallow.

He was out cold before he had a chance to retract his praise for the Ranger's honesty.

(1)J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring.


	5. Bonds

Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies – not mine, no money, just for fun.

Please Note - this story is AU!

Thanks, as always to my beta Sarah who comes through for me in sickness and in health – you are the greatest! And thanks too to those who are reading and for letting me know that you are enjoying – I can never say thank you enough!!

I know this is a little late so it is an extra long chapter to try and make up for it -

Chapter 5

Bonds

Gimli had been in more than one battle and had seen many an injured, dying or dead being in his life. But it was disconcerting to be the one doing the injuring in such a methodical way to someone that was supposed to be on your side. Granted, Gimli wasn't exactly the one wielding the knife, but he was the one holding the instruments of pain infliction, as well as a small bag full of more of the crushed herbs that were supposed to dull pain. His job was to press the concoction tightly over Legolas' face should the Elf begin to awaken during the surgery, as well as to hold the Elf down if such a thing were to become necessary.

He had tried to argue that he was probably not the best one for this job, that he had a queasy stomach where such things were concerned. But Aragorn had grabbed him by the arm, quite firmly, and said, in no uncertain terms, that he was helping and that was that, pointing out that Gimli, having been a willing participant in the hiding of the injury, could very well step up and help with fixing it. But it wasn't anger that showed in Aragorn's face as he instructed Gimli in his duties, but rather, it was fear - plain and simple - and Gimli swallowed any queasiness he might have felt.

The strain on the Ranger's face as he sliced open Legolas' side was sobering. The wound was deep and the poison, black and viscous oozed from the cut Aragorn made. The Ranger blotted at the vile stuff with a rag, trying to clear enough away so that he could see what he was doing. The arrow was firmly embedded and had managed to work its way beneath two ribs. Aragorn tried twisting it but it meant tearing into the soft tissue of the Elf's side and soon, fresh blood was mixed with the poison. Legolas began to moan softly and toss his head to and fro.

"Gimli, the herbs!" Aragorn commanded. Gimli grabbed the bag and held it tightly against Legolas' nose and mouth. The Elf's eyes opened, briefly, and he gasped in pain but then was forced to suck herb-laden air into his lungs. His eyes rolled back into his head and his lids fluttered shut. Gimli sucked air into his own lungs, which was about the time he realized that he had been holding his breath. Aragorn must have been doing the same, for Gimli heard a sharp intake of air from the Ranger too.

Aragorn passed the back of his hand across his perspiring brow, perspiring, even though the night was crisp and quite cool. "I do not want to cut any deeper than I already have," he murmured, whether to himself or Gimli, the dwarf could not be sure. "I could puncture a lung. But, he has lost a tremendous amount of blood as it is, and I cannot wait any longer. This arrow must come out. Now. Here, Gimli," he said, handing over the bloody rag he had been using to wipe the wound. "See if you can keep the wound clear so I can see what I am doing." Thus began a strategy of sorts – Gimli would wipe and Aragorn would make swift, small cuts with the knife followed by a desperate twist and pull of the embedded arrow. Both of them sported sweating brows and bloody hands to the wrists by the time the arrow began to show signs of coming loose.

"How I wish I had packed pincers," Aragorn bemoaned as the arrow, slick with blood, slipped once more from his fingers. "It would have made this easier."

"Here, use this," Gimli directed, handing over a clean rag. Aragorn used it to grip the end of the arrow and with a final tug, the bolt, at last, came loose. Both of them, joined by the surrounding Fellowship, shouted their triumph. Legolas' pain-filled moans quickly sobered everyone and Aragorn motioned for Gimli to use the bag once more while he grabbed a water skin and immediately began to sluice out the wound.

As Gimli attempted to hold the bag over the Elf's nose, Legolas began to thrash about, violently. "Boromir, help!" Gimli shouted. A flailing fist caught him under the chin and he ended up sprawled on the ground. In the end, it took everyone to hold the Elf down, two hobbits on each leg, Boromir and Gimli at his shoulders and arms, while Aragorn mixed another dose of medicine. With Gimli once again holding the flask, the Ranger supported Legolas' head. Speaking soothingly to his friend, Aragorn coaxed small dribbles of the liquid down the Elf's throat. Though he couldn't have been aware of anything other than being in pain, Aragorn's soft words seemed to calm the Elf enough to convince him to swallow. It wasn't long before Aragorn was laying the once again unconscious Elf gently on the ground. He hissed as he looked to the wound that had been left to bleed unchecked. Gimli gulped. The Elf's collapse into unconsciousness, he realized, was likely as much due to blood loss, as it was to Aragorn's potion.

"Gimli, the needle!" Aragorn commanded, as he pressed the cloth once more to the wound. Gimli searched for the needle that had been prepared and ready, but found that Legolas' fit had thrown his once neat arrangement of instruments into chaos, making it impossible to find, compounded by the fact that it was now so dark that even the light of the two fires set to aid Aragorn in his surgery and the moonlight above provided little help. Gimli resorted to crawling about on his knees, sliding his hands carefully along the ground before him as though he were blind, which, given the current state of affairs, he might as well have been. "Gimli!" Aragorn cried, pure panic now edging his voice.

"I'm looking, Aragorn, I'm looking!" Gimli bellowed back. "That fool Elf made a mess of things with all of his thrashing about," he muttered, his own panic coming out as anger.

"Do you need help to look?" Frodo asked, stooping at Gimli's side. Merry and Pippin joined in then, dropping to their knees too, kicking up dirt and causing even more confusion.

"Hobbits!" Boromir cried, seeing what was happening. "Come away! It is method that is needed now, not mayhem." Everyone stopped what they were doing, eyes darting between Boromir and Gimli.

"He is right, my friends," Gimli said, forcing himself to remain calm when all he wanted to do was screech at the energetic halflings. "You will help better by letting the light in and not creating a dust storm. Frodo? I could use your help. The needle must be right around in here," he said, sweeping his hand in a half circle. "It is so small we must search carefully or we will miss it. You keep there, an arm's distance from me, and search as I am searching. Now, let us begin." They began to run their hands lightly across the surface of the ground, slowly, methodically, the only sound breaking their concentration was an occasional snort of frustration from Aragorn followed by the distinct sound of grinding teeth.

At last, when Gimli had begun to despair, Frodo cried, "Here it is!" holding up the threaded needle in triumph.

"Excellent, Frodo," Aragorn said, taking it carefully from the hobbit. "Now if you could all move back and give me some light, we will close this wound and let our Elven friend begin to recuperate.

&

It was difficult to believe, but Gimli slept. After all they had been through, they all slept, albeit fitfully. Aragorn had still insisted on them bedding down in the trees which had resulted in quite a few arguments before their leader won out. It was difficult to deny that they were in no condition to face another Orc attack now that they were down to three warriors with four hobbits and a wounded comrade to protect.

With Legolas incapacitated, the task of finding trees that they might be comfortable in for the night, fell to Aragorn. Once he was satisfied with Legolas' condition, he began searching the area and found several that he said had thick, wide and flat limbs combined with leafy boughs that would allow them room to lie down along with foliage to cover them from prying eyes. One at a time, he carried the hobbits up and settled them each in a place where they would, in his estimation, be safe. Gimli could tell by their muttered comments that the hobbits were inclined to disagree.

Then it was Legolas' turn. The Ranger tightened the bandage placed around the Elf's middle, which had indeed ended up being a strip from Gimli's blanket, just as the Elf had predicted, and then, with Boromir's help, positioned the Elf over his shoulder. This was not the first time he had climbed a tree with his friend slung over his back, he remarked when both Boromir and Gimli had hesitated at the arrangement. Once Legolas had been situated in such a way that he was mostly prone, yet still safe from rolling out of the tree, the Ranger returned to help the remaining members of the Fellowship. Boromir held up his hand in protest.

"I'm not as skilful as you are at tree-climbing Aragorn, but I think I can manage to get myself up. Whether I sleep, once there, is an entirely different matter," he added, dryly. Aragorn nodded then turned his attention to Gimli.

"I'm not doing it," Gimli said, flatly, folding his arms across his chest. "You won't find me up in any tree. I'm a dwarf, not some flighty bird. Or Elf."

"Gimli, I understand completely. But look – the hobbits have gone up and they don't like it at all. If they can do it…" But Gimli stood firm and shook his head. "It is for your own safety," Aragorn urged.

"I can take care of myself," Gimli said, resolutely.

"But you might give away our position," Aragorn pointed out.

"Not if I sleep elsewhere," Gimli argued.

Aragorn frowned in frustration. "Gimli, what can I say to convince you of your folly? You would be alone down here and it would not be wise for us to draw attention to the hobbits or our injured friend by attempting to help you."

"I will need no help -"

"Gimli! Please!" Aragorn snapped, his patience reaching its end.

Gimli's stubborn streak warred with his knowledge that the Ranger was only worried for his safety and he knew that Aragorn already had plenty to worry about. "Oh, very well," he groused. "I'll go up a tree. But I shall _not_ like it."

"I do not ask that you like it, my friend. Yet I thank you for this act of selflessness. And now, I ask for you to consider being even more generous." Aragorn stepped forward, clasping his hands behind his back and leaning forward, levelling his steel grey eyes at Gimli. Gimli wanted nothing more than to back away, feeling the power behind the Ranger's hard gaze, certain that he was about to lose this battle of wills just as Legolas had before him.

"Gimli," the Ranger said, quietly. "We have not yet discussed what is to happen to Legolas, now that the arrow has been removed." Gimli's heart began to beat hard in his chest. He had a feeling what was about to come – Legolas had been warning him of it since admitting to his injury. "He cannot go with us," Aragorn continued. "To move him now would open up his wound again and that would be the death of him. He cannot afford any more loss of blood." Gimli clenched his jaw and huffed, attempting to ward off what he knew the Ranger was about to ask of him. But it did no good. Aragorn reached a hand out to grasp him by the shoulder, continuing to stare Gimli directly in the eye and asked anyway.

"Please, Gimli. You can dress a wound - you have proven that. And, you have shown yourself to be capable, honourable and dedicated, as well. And, more surprising to me than anything so far on this strange journey, you have shown yourself willing to help him. Please! Help me in this!"

_No. He would not_! Gimli's mind screamed. He had kept that blasted Elf's secret all of this time to avoid just such a situation as this. He would not be pushed into it now. He had signed on to this quest to protect the ring bearer, to save Middle Earth from the dark forces of the world, _not_ to act as nurse-maid to an Elf. He would not do it!

"I certainly cannot leave him alone – he will be unconscious and helpless while his body attempts to repair itself. And I cannot leave him with Boromir, either."

"Why not?" Gimli demanded.

"Because," Aragorn answered, quietly, his eyes flitting back over his shoulder for a moment. "He will not do it."

_And neither will I!_ Gimli wanted to shout.

"You helped him before…" Aragorn began again.

"Because he said that this very situation would occur if I did not," Gimli sputtered.

"Is that the only reason?" Aragorn prodded.

Gimli gulped and then sagged. "No. I also did not want you to be in the position that you are in, now," he answered, reluctantly. "And he is a fellow comrade in arms. As such, I owed him what aid I might give."

"He is still that," Aragorn quickly pointed out. "And he needs your help now more than ever. I, as the leader of this Fellowship, need your help too. Legolas, as you may have surmised, is like a brother to me. I – I cannot leave him behind, alone. I cannot take him with me without killing him. And yet, my duty demands that I ensure Frodo's safety above all else. Above all _others_. I do not know what to do!" Aragorn straightened, the deep breath he took as he did coming out as a strangled sob. He took a moment to steady himself before turning his attention once again to the dwarf before him. "This is not an army Gimli, so I cannot command you to do this. I can only ask. But I ask and I beg you, for the sake of us all, please help me!"

Gimli let out a frustrated snort. He wondered if Aragorn would hold them all here if he could not find someone to stay with the Elf, even if that choice would not be helping Frodo, though it was obvious that Aragorn clearly recognized his commitment to the ring bearer. But what commitment did the bonds of friendship tie one to? And were those bonds, in the case of Aragorn and Legolas, stronger than the promise made to the members of the Council, to Elrond and to Frodo? The desperation in Aragorn's face was felling. The Ranger was in a terrible position; that much was clear to Gimli. And what a terrible position he found himself in, as a result! What could he say when faced with such a heart-wrenching request? Any other option was wholly unacceptable.

_So is this one!_ He wanted to shout. But given the choices, this was, unfortunately, the best of the worst. This would be the sacrifice he could make for the Fellowship, for Frodo. And he had every belief, at this moment, that he was making the greatest sacrifice of them all. "Very well," he muttered.

Aragorn swooped down on Gimli, pulling him forward by the shoulder and hugging the dwarf to his chest. "Thank you, Gimli! Thank you!" he beamed. "I will make it up to you, I swear it. I will return for you, once we have sheltered the hobbits in Lórien and from that point on, I will do anything that you ask. Whatever I can give, I will give. You protect one who is as important to me as my own life, therefore, I owe you my life!"

"Nonsense, Aragorn," Gimli felt his cheeks flush as he backed away from the Ranger's grasp. "He is a comrade in arms, as I said. I am doing this for that reason only and out of fear that you will endanger the ring bearer if I do not." He bit his tongue on this last remark as soon as he saw the stricken look on the Man's face. "I – mean – I didn't mean," he stammered.

Aragorn shook his head sadly and again placed a hand on Gimli's shoulder, squeezing it gently. "No, Gimli, you are right. I have always had a difficult time sacrificing the needs of those I care deeply for to my duty. I fear for the kind of leader I will be given this weakness of mine." He sighed heavily, dropping his head, dejectedly, to gaze at the ground. Before Gimli could formulate a reply though, the Ranger visibly shook himself and releasing the dwarf's shoulder, moved purposefully to the tree that held the Elf. "Here Gimli, let me give you a boost."

In the end, it took many boosts before Gimli found himself on the same branch that the Elf was stretched out on. He found that he could control, somewhat, the butterflies in his stomach so long as he did not look down. But it was difficult since that seemed to be the only thing he wanted to do. And so began a battle in his head that raged throughout the night - look down - don't look down! But he did, amazingly, find rest; a deep sleep that lasted for several hours overtook him finally, a sure sign of utter and complete exhaustion, and, perhaps, relief that there were no longer secrets between them.

He wasn't the only one who had difficulty sleeping. He could hear the hobbits talking in the next tree, as he lay in twilight slumber, Boromir shushing them at regular intervals. Aragorn clambered back and forth between the tree where Gimli and the Elf rested, and the one that sheltered the remainder of the Fellowship. Gimli awakened at one of Aragorn's visits and watched while the Ranger checked his patient. He continued to watch while the man carefully re-bandaged the wound, tucking the Elf's blanket around him and then placing a hand gently on Legolas' forehead. The scowl on his face told Gimli what he needed to know – things were not going well. Gimli stood and, with all of the courage he could muster, made his way across the branch to the Ranger. "I will watch over him, Aragorn. You must get some rest. I will get you if anything changes."

For the longest time, Aragorn did not move, but rather stared at the unconscious Elf, his hand still resting on Legolas' forehead. At last he rose, unsteadily and without even a glance in Gimli's direction, pulled himself up into some branches above, stretching himself out on a leafy bough. With his head resting comfortably against a thick frond, the Ranger closed his eyes and fell immediately asleep, soft snores barely heard, even in the still of the night. Gimli marvelled for a moment that the man seemed to, so effortlessly, let loose of his worry and give himself so quickly over to sleep, but then, he noted that if Aragorn had had more than a few hours of sleep together since leaving Rivendell, Gimli could not remember it. It was not choice or skill that sent the Ranger so readily to a state that was likely every bit as deep as that of the Elf's but rather desperate and undeniable need.

Gimli positioned himself on the same branch on which the Elf rested, his head nestled against the stout trunk of the tree. Before he knew it, he had fallen asleep again too, his words to the Ranger forgotten. But they came back in a rush when he felt the branch he rested upon shuddering beneath him. His eyes flew open in terror and he clutched at anything he could to hold himself in place. The Elf was awake, he realized at once, and was moving, tossing to and fro, struggling to sit up. He would have them both on the ground shortly if he didn't stop his thrashing about, Gimli feared.

The dwarf rolled forward, onto his knees and began to crawl toward the struggling Elf. "Legolas!" he bellowed, in a whisper. "Stay still, Elf or you will knock us both from this tree!" But then Gimli caught sight of the Elf's face, twisted in agony and wondered if he even knew what he was doing. Gimli laboured to bring himself beside the Elf, carefully placing knees and hands so that he could crawl over him without touching him, no easy task for a dwarf. The limb branched into several near Legolas' head, providing room for Gimli to be able to crouch beside the writhing archer. He placed a hand on Legolas' shoulder and held him down against the branch while searching Aragorn's pack, which had been placed nearby, for the pouch that held the pain relieving herbs. Holding him down wasn't a difficult thing to do at all – Legolas had very little strength with which to fight– yet still, he did fight and Gimli was anxious not to awaken Aragorn. It made for quite a challenge, especially when Gimli was completely and totally convinced that they would both end up falling from the tree to their deaths before he found what he searched for.

He found the pouch and crushed it in his hand, releasing more of the pungent odour that would ease the Elf's pain. He forced it against the Elf's nose, holding it there until at last Legolas began to relax. Gimli removed the pouch and replaced it back in Aragorn's pack but near the top where he could reach it again quickly, if he needed it. He turned back to the Elf to find that the archer's eyes were wide open, anxious and searching, relaxing only when they lighted on Gimli. The soft glow of moonlight that filtered through the leaves overhead illuminated the stark whiteness of his face and the sheen of sweat on his brow. Yet still, a smile quirked the corners of his lips.

"I'm sorry to be such trouble," he whispered, his voice cracking.

"You're an Elf; what choice do you have?" Gimli returned.

"Ah, Gimli," Legolas answered, "You give me reason to live, if only to attempt to prove you wrong."

"To be a thorn in my side you mean," Gimli grunted, pleased that the Elf was improved enough to banter.

"That too, of course. I know how empty your days would be without me to enliven things for you." Gimli snorted and settled back against a nearby branch so the Elf wouldn't have to strain to look up at him. Legolas' eyes followed his cautious movements, the slight smile on his lips growing. "Gimli," he said, "Did you know you are up in a tree?"

Gimli rolled his eyes and muttered, "That would be obvious, even to one with such limited mental capacity as yourself. Of course I know I am up in a tree, you crazy Elf and it is not at all to my liking, believe you me."

"Come, Gimli, really - it isn't so bad as all that. One night in a tree? I mean, I spent nearly a week in a mine. You could at least spend one night in a tree. Is it so much to ask?"

Gimli opened his mouth to respond then closed it before the words could escape. _It won't be one night_, he had almost said, _not before you are well and able to move on_. He had no doubt that this bit of news should come from Aragorn, not from his lips and would need to be very diplomatically delivered. Legolas was eyeing him openly and, Gimli was certain, with suspicion. "Yes," he answered, instead. "It is. Too much."

The Elf cocked his head to one side and Gimli braced himself for an interrogation. But Legolas chuckled lightly, instead, and said, "You know, we are not so different, you and I."

Gimli recalled that those had been the same words Gandalf had used during their "talk". His brows rose. "Oh? How so?" he queried, wondering in what possible way he could ever be considered the same as the tall, slender, elegant creature stretched out before him, other than the fact that both could be as stubborn as mules.

"Well," Legolas began, "we both know what we do not like."

"Humph. That does not make us alike. An Orc knows what it does not like and though you might have much in common with an Orc, _I_, do not."

"Perhaps." Gimli's eyes narrowed and Legolas chuckled again, more heartily this time, giving Gimli his first moment free from anxiety for the Elf's health since first viewing his so-called "simple" wound. The sound of laughter and the smile that came with it faded quickly, though, and Legolas brow creased in a thoughtful frown, "We are alike in other ways too. We both decided not to like each other from the start." Gimli had to agree with the truth of that statement and nodded.

"I wonder," the Elf continued, "just how much our fathers' influence had to do with that decision, as opposed to our deciding it for ourselves? And yet, now that I think about it, it is quite seldom indeed that I do anything my father wishes without at least thinking of doing the opposite first. It is, I am afraid, the nature of our relationship, though the desire is lessening as I age, or, as my father, no doubt would say, as I 'mature'."

Gimli grunted. "Methinks it is the way of many fathers and sons."

"You too?" Legolas asked, surprised.

"Aye. Me. And my father." Gimli's face broke into a smile and he laughed. "There have been times in my life that if my father had told me that the best way to go was to the right, I would have chosen instead to go to the left and circle the earth to get where I needed to go, ere I would follow his direction." Legolas chuckled too and settled his head back against the tree branch, gazing off into the leafy depths above. Gimli copied the Elf's movement, leaning against a branch that paralleled the one they were situated upon, lacing his fingers together and resting his entwined hands upon his chest, his eyes seeking the occasional glimpses of stars that winked brightly through the canopy overhead, finding it suddenly and surprisingly easy to ignore the fact that he was suspended on a stick of wood thirty feet from the good, solid ground below. "Why is it," he mused, "you are still speaking to me after how I tricked you?"

Legolas did not answer right away. Neither did he look in Gimli's direction and Gimli began to wonder if the Elf had possibly forgotten what had been done to him and now reminded, he would decide that he was indeed angry and act accordingly. But his words when spoken weren't angry, they were in fact calm and collected yet served an even better purpose than Elven anger. "Because most mortals do what Aragorn tells them to do. It isn't your fault that you have no will of your own," he said, casually but without a doubt knowing that he was leaving Gimli fairly bristling with fury.

Gimli, however, tamed his response, remembering all that he knew of Legolas. He realized, with very little trouble, that _this_ was the Elf's revenge, to once again bait Gimli into reacting. He debated giving in and letting Legolas have what he was likely craving – a nice explosion from the dwarf. But he couldn't find it in himself to pretend what he no longer felt and instead offered the truth. "They do when they know he is right," he murmured, not taking his eyes from the tiny pinpricks of light from above that illuminated them on their perch. "When they know that he is only looking out for the welfare of a very spoiled and ungrateful Elfling." He settled back to await the explosion that he was sure would now be coming from the Elf.

The quiet night was broken instead by a deep and resonant laugh, not the childlike giggle that Gimli had found so unexpectedly endearing, yet a sound every bit as captivating. It was over almost as soon as it started, cut off by a soft and quickly stifled moan. Gimli started at the sound, rising and leaning over Legolas, anxiously searching the Elf's pale face. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," Legolas whispered. "Fine."

Gimli snorted. "Fine. Are you ever anything but?" Gimli continued to watch the Elf carefully – Legolas relaxed back against the tree, attempting to ignore him, until irritation, at last, took over.

"Do you mind? You are blocking the view and though I'm sure you think I'd rather look at you than the moon and stars, I assure you, my _dear_ Gimli, I would sooner look at a troll." Legolas flashed a brilliant and dimpled smile with the words and Gimli could not stop himself from chuckling though he would be hard pressed to understand why – a week ago he would have taken his axe to the Elf's neck for saying something like that. Now, he was laughing. Gimli returned to his comfortable, (comfortable? He was shocked to realize that he was indeed comfortable), spot up against his branch and resumed his study of the stars. They both remained in contemplative silence. It was not an uneasy silence though, Gimli noted. Not like it so often was when two people sat alone together.

"Do you think," Legolas spoke at last, twisting slightly so that he looked up at Gimli again. "Do you think that perhaps we might go against our fathers once more?"

"How so?" Gimli answered, shifting his attention to the Elf.

"Well, we might forgo our fight and, well, see…" Legolas faltered, his eyes suddenly unable to meet Gimli's, his gaze dropping instead to where his slender fingers plucked nervously at the blanket Aragorn had tucked around him earlier. "We could just see if, perhaps, we might be able to stand each other, for awhile. That we might – well – perhaps - we might find something about each other that we could tolerate? If we tried?"

Gimli observed Legolas openly, his surprise at the Elf's obvious discomfiture showing plainly on his face. He had never thought he would see Legolas as anything but sure and confident. It was strangely - endearing. "Perhaps we might," he answered carefully, bowing his head slightly and pursing his lips as he thought this over. "I suppose, if we weren't too particular about things. No need to be so particular about things, I suppose…" His voice trailed off as it came to him, suddenly, that he actually meant his words - that he was not just attempting to placate a sick and feeble-minded creature but that he really could see the two of them on good terms, though it might require extraordinary effort on his part. He found himself feeling suddenly and strangely relieved, as if these simple words had somehow released him from a duty that he had not realized was his, but had weighed heavily on him all the same. "It would be good for the Fellowship," he finished, a bemused smile on his face as he tried to imagine what the future might be like with the two of them actually getting along.

"For the Fellowship, yes," Legolas agreed.

"And it would be easier if we didn't fight all of the time," Gimli followed. "Easier for everyone, I would think."

"Yes. Easier. Except when we wanted to, that is," Legolas added, a mischievous glint appearing in his eye.

Gimli flashed a smile and chuckled. "Except when we want to, yes." Their eyes locked for a moment and Gimli felt something pass between them, a strange sort of energy, born of a common purpose, a bond. _Bond_? Aulë forbid! He could hardly admit to himself that he no longer found this creature loathsome and now, all of a sudden, they had forged a bond? He forced his eyes away, turning suddenly, only to find himself gazing thirty feet down to the hard ground below. A wave of nausea engulfed him at the sight and he grasped at a nearby branch. He gulped, shivered and spun back to face the Elf, struggling to hide the fact that his stomach was doing flip-flops.

"And are you stuck with me now, Gimli?" Legolas asked, his suddenly clear and keen eyes boring into Gimli's panicked ones, giving the dwarf the distinct impression of a cat scrutinizing a mouse that it held trapped between its paws.

"Stuck with you?" Gimli gulped again.

"Yes. Has Aragorn decided that you must stay with me and the others will continue on?"

"Well, yes. He has asked me to stay with you," Gimli admitted, and with no small amount of trepidation, certain that the Elf had taken advantage of his being off kilter to seek information better left to Aragorn to deliver.

Sure enough, Legolas tore his eyes from Gimli's and shifted uncomfortably on the branch, throwing his leg out from beneath the cover that the Ranger had so carefully tucked about him, while fisting his hands at his sides. "You don't have to, you know," he muttered through gritted teeth. "I am much better already." He had received the answer he sought and he did not like it; that much was obvious.

Gimli breathed deeply and grunted, once again in control of his stomach and the rest of his senses, aided by the sight of the suddenly petulant Elf. "The only thing better about you, Elf, is that you no longer have a freely bleeding hole in your side and you have ready access to drugs that allow you to do something other than writhe on that branch. But lying there, not writhing is not the same as being _much better_ and is, in fact, about the extent of your abilities, right now." Gimli reached out and purposefully tucked the blanket back around the Elf, his eyes locking with Legolas' once again. This time he refused to look away. "You need someone, Legolas," he asserted. "Accept the facts. I have. And the facts are that you are hurt and I am staying behind to care for you." And that was that.

He patted the blanket one last time before slowly and carefully returning to his previous seat, climbing over the Elf, and settling his back against the trunk of the tree, attempting, once again, to relax. He did accept this task that was thrust upon him and wondered why he had fought the notion so hard. The Elf really did need him. And so did Aragorn. So did the Fellowship. Legolas eyes had dimmed. He was tiring.

"I think…this is a…time I would fight you, Gimli. You must go…you must not stay here…" he slurred.

"Unfortunately, Elf, this time it is not up to you," Gimli responded. "I will not fight and you will not have much fun fighting alone."

"You will not fight…you will give in…go without me?"

"Not likely. No."

Once again, silence fell between them. When next Gimli looked, Legolas' eyes had glazed over and he slept. This time, Gimli kept watch, listening to the soft snores of the hobbits from their nearby perch, joined by the deep hum of Boromir's breaths in the still air, thinking all the while how strangely different things were compared to just a few short days before. And every indication was that they would not be righting themselves any time soon.

Just before daybreak, the Ranger stirred, stretched and came awake. He blinked several times before regaining his senses. He remembered at once his charge and scrambled down from the branches where he rested to alight next to the still sleeping Elf. Gimli had thought him sleeping, only to take in Aragorn's panicked expression. Gimli jerked to attention, fear that something dreadful had happened during his watch causing his heart to pound in his chest. He scrambled forward on his knees, rising slightly to lean closer to the Man and Elf.

"Aragorn?"

"He is unconscious still. And fevered too." The Ranger answered the unasked question. He pulled down the blanket and opened the Elf's tunic. His face turned even sourer, if that were possible and he cursed, at least, it sounded like a curse though Gimli did not recognize the language. "I had hoped a miracle might occur and he would be healed enough that we might at least take him a little deeper into the forest, closer to safety. But the wound still oozes blood. To move him now would be the death of him."

"He was awake some time ago," Gimli informed, hoping the news might provide some comfort.

"Was he? Awake and lucid?"

"Yes. At least I think so." Gimli chuckled as he recalled their conversation, thinking that if it had been a few days ago, he would not have used the word "lucid" to describe the Elf's behaviour. He would have said instead that the Elf had soundly lost his mind. Aragorn began to redress the wound, applying the healing salve he had been using since the arrow had been removed.

"It is remarkable that his lung wasn't punctured," Gimli noted as he took the container of salve and placed it back in the Ranger's pack.

"Perhaps not remarkable, Gimli, for Elves are extraordinarily tough, no matter how delicate they may appear. Word of warning, my friend – do not assume for a minute that you can take Legolas on in anything physical. You will need wiles in order to best him. And don't underestimate him in that category either. He has had several hundreds of years to perfect his charm and cunning. But, I believe Gimli that you are up to the task. You are a most observant individual. Make note of this fact - Legolas can be distracted by the world around him, with a little cunning on your part. Use it to your advantage."

"Why do you tell me this?" Gimli asked as he handed over more of his ruined blanket to replace the bloody bandage.

The Ranger shrugged. "I don't know. I just – have a feeling that you will benefit from this knowledge. Please Master Dwarf, do not tell him that I have told you this or I will be punished severely for years to come."

"My lips are sealed, Aragorn. You have my word on it." A smile ghosted the Ranger's lips for a moment as he took the bandage from Gimli. After rewrapping the wound, the Ranger called over to the other tree exhorting Boromir to wake the hobbits. He then sorted through his pack, taking only a few packets that Gimli assumed were medicines and none of the food. His blanket too remained in the pack, which he handed off to Gimli.

"You know which medicines to give him. The salve must be applied each time you re-bandage the wound." He handed over several water skins. "Can you climb back up here once you've climbed down? It is important Gimli. I'll need to leave you more water if you can't. You will certainly be here for several days and if Legolas' fever continues to rise, you could require much to keep it in check."

"I can climb, Aragorn. Given the right reason." Aragorn gazed at Gimli with careful regard before returning his attention to the Elf.

"Aragorn, we must go!" Boromir called from below. "It will be dawn soon and we must make good use of the daylight." Yet Aragorn continued to hover over the Elf, placing a roughened hand against his cheek.

"Ai, Legolas! How I hate to abandon you!" he cried, softly.

Gimli reached across Legolas' still body and gripped Aragorn's shoulder. "Aragorn, you must go," he insisted. "Like all of us, Legolas came on this journey as a soldier, to serve and protect. He knew the risks he took and was willing to sacrifice all for our purpose here. You must go and leave him now. There is nothing more you can do for him, but there are others here that need your protection. You are our leader now. You must act as one, as difficult as I know that to be. I have said that he is a comrade in arms. Trust me. I will care for him." Aragorn paused, his hand resting against the pale face.

"Yes. You are right, of course," he said at last, sighing heavily. "Of course you are." He stood, and manoeuvred deftly over the Elf and past Gimli, grabbing hold of a branch to begin his descent from the tree. But he paused and turned back to Gimli, still crouching beside the Elf.

"I am leader, I accept that responsibility," he said, resignedly. "But I am not a good one for when I look there, Gimli, I see not a soldier, but a friend and it is with a heavy heart that I do my duty." With a deep sigh, he turned and started once again down the tree. His movements though were stayed by Gimli's soft words.

"And that is what makes you not a good leader, my friend, but a great one. Go, I will care for him. You have my word."

Aragorn nodded again and said, "I thank you, Gimli. More than you can know." He began his climb down once more and this time did not look back.


	6. Left Behind

Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies – not mine, no money, just for fun.

Please Note - this story is AU!

Thanks to my wonderful beta Sarah and to those who are reading this story. I can't thank you enough too, for letting me know you are out there!!!

Chapter 6

Left Behind

Legolas' fever did not abate but neither did it worsen. The end result was that the Elf slept. And slept. And slept. At first Gimli was thankful, knowing that rest was exactly what was needed if Legolas were going to improve. But after several hours, he grew restive. There wasn't much he could do up in a tree except try not to look down. The hours crawled by. When at last Legolas awoke, it was near dusk. The dwarf was downright chatty, so happy was he to have something to distract him from his boredom and from his constant thoughts of his untenable and markedly ridiculous position in a tree. A place where no dwarf in his right mind would ever choose to be. Legolas, on the other hand, was nothing short of testy. He seemed to be fighting his way through a fog as he deflected Gimli's barrage of questions with either one word answers that were oft times nothing more than a grunt, or an expression; a quirked brow, grimace, or snap of his head.

"I'm only trying to help, Elf," Gimli grumbled after one of Legolas' wordless expressions that could only be described as peeved.

"You could help by stopping to breathe, _Dwarf_, and letting my ears have a rest."

Gimli did not miss the emphasis on the word. "All you had to say was "be quiet" and I would've been", he retorted. "I'm just trying to be friendly. I should have remembered that you prefer solitude and silence," he snapped. Legolas' blue eyes smouldered but he gave no response. Gimli shuffled through Aragorn's pack, pulling out one of the water skins and the vials of healing salve. "We should clean your wound," he said shortly. He helped Legolas to sit up, sliding him back so that he could lean against a branch of the tree that crossed with the one they rested upon, and opened his tunic. The Elf stiffened at Gimli's touch and averted his eyes. Gimli hesitated in his ministrations, observing Legolas carefully, wondering what had happened to change the other's attitude so completely. "Is everything all right?" he tried again.

"Fine," the Elf ground out, though it was obvious that he was anything but. Gimli could do nothing but continue, his confusion mounting. Had he done something wrong? The Elf shuddered each time Gimli made contact with any part of his body, as the dwarf cleaned the still oozing wound. He kept his eyes trained on something off to the left of Gimli's shoulder the entire time, refusing to meet Gimli's eye. It was as if the events of the last day had never occurred, that it was some trick of Gimli's mind that the Elf had ever spoken to him of friendship. _And_, he thought with a shudder, _perhaps it was all a trick_. He knew well that Legolas was a master at manipulation - the Elf knew how to use words to elicit feelings and actions from all in the group. Might he have merely pretended to be a friend, to ensure that Gimli would remain and take care of him? _Yes_, Gimli thought. _He very well might_.

And now that Gimli had given up any chance of continuing on with the Fellowship; now that the Elf had what he wanted **– **Gimli left behind to protect him – there was no longer any reason for him to pretend and so he had given up any pretence of it. That would explain the lack of talk of truce, friendship, in fact, the lack of any talk at all.

With a glance to the sullen face of the Elf, Gimli pulled the bandage tight, his own irritation getting the better of him. Legolas sucked in his breath but continued to gaze off into the wood, ignoring the dwarf as if he were nothing more than an irritating gnat, or a bad taste in his mouth. Nothing more than a mere servant at his court. Servant! Was that what this son-of-orc-spit thought of him! Gimli glared at the side of the Elf's fair face, his anger growing, fighting a growing desire to shove the ungrateful creature clean off of the branch he rested upon.

As if he could feel the weight of Gimli's gaze searing into the side of his head, the Elf turned and with his own eyes blazing, hissed, "Have you nothing else to do than to stare at me? Is there something strange you see? Have I suddenly grown another head, perhaps?"

"No," Gimli shot back without hesitation. "Not another head. But you have developed a likeness to an ass. You already had the ears of one and now have the personality to go with it." Legolas' cheeks flushed a bright pink; something that not even fever had managed to bring about. He opened his mouth to retort but clamped his jaws closed and, once again, turned his head away which only served to stoke Gimli's ire. A nice back and forth would have at least given him some way to vent his anger.

_Well, two can play at this game_, Gimli thought and grabbed at the containers of medicines and the soiled bandage, tossing them into Aragorn's pack, one at a time, his anger making his movements none too precise. He could ignore the Elf just as easily - in fact, would do so with pleasure. The bandage he threw caught on one of the stays of the bag and was dragged off course, pulled to the outside of the pack rather than the inside. It unfurled itself over the edge of the branch and hung there, whipping back and forth in the cool night breeze, only serving to rile Gimli all the more. He snatched at the disobedient piece of cloth. It slipped through his grasping fingers and fell, the air current buoying it up so that it went in agonizingly slow motion on its journey to the ground, giving Gimli a nice, long view of it as it dropped. He mumbled a Dwarven curse that would have brought a blush to his mother's cheeks if she had heard him and a sound boxing to his ears, as well. But this was indeed a bad, bad thing. He stared at the offending piece of fabric, curled on the ground beneath him, taunting him. He might just as well have thrown the Elf off the tree and left him helpless on the forest floor. He raised his eyes at that thought to find said Elf staring at him with poorly concealed loathing.

"That was imprudent of you."

"I do not know how I have survived my life without your inane and useless comments to guide me all of these years, Elf," Gimli spat out. It was that or punch the insolent creature. Legolas blinked once and began to push himself up, using the branch of the tree against his back as an aid. "What are you doing?" Gimli shouted surging forward and grasping the Elf by the arm, forcing him back down.

"I'm going after that scrap. You might as well have planted a sign declaring that we are up this tree, even worse, for though Orcs may not be able to read, they surely know Elven blood when they smell it. It cannot stay there and you certainly cannot climb down to retrieve it."

"And you can? I assure you, oh lofty Prince, that I am much better equipped to climb down this tree and back up again than you." Gimli felt Legolas' arm stiffen beneath his hand.

"I rather doubt that," he scoffed.

"It is not a matter for discussion, Elf. If you were to happen to climb down - fall would be more like it - and not be able to climb back up, I would be hard pressed to help you. You would more than likely have to stay below. I would think Orcs might be attracted to your fresh Elven blood even more so than to a bandage. In your current helpless state, you would open us up to all sorts of dangers. I am only one warrior and you are worthless as…"

The blood rushed from the Elf's face leaving it even whiter than normal, the white hot of serious anger. "I do not need your help, _Dwarf,_" he hissed.

"Oh?" Gimli could not resist. All of the frustration and anger he had been holding in rose to the surface and he gave up any attempt to control it. "Why you cannot even stand without my aid. You are as helpless and useless as a newborn…"

"I most certainly can…"

He felt pressure again on his hand as Legolas attempted to rise. He recognized at once that his goading had been a bad choice of ways to vent his irritation. "Do not even think it, Elf! I have no desire to have to stitch you back together…"

"Silence!"

What! This insolent, upstart might be a prince but he had no right to command Gimli like one of his subjects! "Why you…"

"Gimli! _Shut. Up_." The Elf was no longer looking at him but was, instead, gazing out across the forest. Gimli closed his mouth and strained his ears.

"There are Orcs coming," the Elf said, dropping his voice. Gimli swallowed his angry words and without missing a beat, grabbed up his axe and began to peer through the leaves, any of his earlier nausea at the sight of the ground so far below forgotten. Legolas, in the meantime, pulled himself up to a crouch. "My bow, where is my bow?" he whispered. Gimli nodded toward the bough to the Elf's back. The bow was wedged between two branches, the quiver resting on top. Gimli returned his attention to search the sounds of the forest for the arrival of the Orcs. He did not have to wait for long. More than a dozen crashed through the underbrush, grunting and cursing, making absolutely no attempt at stealth.

They stopped periodically to sniff the air and to scrabble about on the ground. It made Gimli nervous. Could they really smell scents in the air like dogs? Would they note the blood spattering the ground around Aragorn's surgery? They had attempted to cover any signs with dirt but some might have escaped their notice in the dark. Sure enough, the Orcs pulled up short beneath the tree that Legolas had fallen from. They appeared to be digging in the dirt and then shouts of excitement filled the still forest air. Gimli pulled himself closer to the tree trunk and motioned Legolas to flatten himself against the branch he crouched upon. The Orcs began to circle the tree not twenty steps from where they hid, before attacking it, ramming it with their shoulders. The tree shuddered with each assault, so hard did they strike. If it had been a sapling or anything other than one of the great Mallorn trees of Lórien, it most assuredly would have been pulled from the ground or snapped.

Several of the creatures milled around on the periphery of the attack, cheering after each strike. One began to make ever widening circles, digging at the ground with its toe and sniffing at each stop, almost as if it had sense enough to make a methodical search. It was coming dangerously close to their tree, Gimli realized, as he shot a nervous glance at the bloody bandage lying beneath them, a veritable beacon in the fading light. But there was absolutely nothing he could do but wait. And hope.

It was as if their luck had fled entirely. The creature gave a whoop and fell upon the scrap of bloody cloth. It hooked it with one clawed finger and raised it to its nose and then to its lips. Its black tongue flicked out and tasted of the blood. The creature made a sound deep in its throat, a feral moan that drew a shudder up Gimli's spine. Roving its head back and forth, it searched the area with yellow eyes that gleamed like a snakes. Then, all at once, it tilted its head back and looked straight up. Gimli flattened himself against the trunk, praying that dusk would hide any telltale glitter of his armour or Legolas' golden hair. He could see the creature through the leaves of the tree, licking its lips and – smiling. It knew. It threw its head back and began to howl.

The others at once abandoned their tree to encircle the one that Gimli and Legolas were hiding in. They all began to bay like wild wolves, the sound making the hairs on the back of Gimli's neck stand up. Legolas lay flat against the branch. Fortunately, his slender body was smaller than the fat limb he rested against and it was quite possible that the Orcs had no idea he was there. Gimli, however, was certain that he could be seen through the leaves of the tree, certain beyond a doubt when the first arrow pierced the trunk just above his head.

"Come down, rat!" one of the Orcs growled. "We won't hurt. We only play."

Legolas head turned at the sound of the arrow thudding into the flesh of the tree. Gimli shook his head hard, recognizing the intent in the Elf's burning eyes. They burned with intent but also with fever, that much was obvious, and Gimli panicked. "Don't even think it, Elf!" he hissed. The last thing he needed was to have a delirious Elf falling out of the tree and into the arms of the raving pack below. Another arrow drove into the trunk, this time, hitting Gimli's arm on its way, only to be deflected by his chain mail. Legolas' eyes widened and he began to push up on the branch. "Legolas! No!" he commanded. "You will not!"

"I can shoot at them," he retorted, as he continued to rise. "What good is your axe up here?" It took Gimli only a moment to see the intelligence of that remark. It was of absolutely no use whatsoever. Up here. He hefted the axe in both hands, grasping it tightly and pushed away from the trunk.

"You will stay here, Elf. You will only be in my way." And with that, he began to climb from the tree. He took two large swings down, feeling rather like an armoured monkey, calling over his shoulder to Legolas as he did. "Stay put, you hear me! Stay put or I'll kill you myself!" He manoeuvred himself at the end so that he swung out and landed on the edge of the circle of Orcs. He was pleased to see that all attention was at once on himself and no longer on the tree and what might yet be in it. He was immediately surrounded.

There were maybe fifteen or sixteen, he was able to figure, as he swung hard at the first unlucky creature to step forward. Fourteen now, he thought as black blood flecked his face. But they were large Orcs, not like the goblins of Moria, and he was alone. And surrounded. This would be no easy task, he knew. This might very well be the last battle he ever fought. And all to save a pointy-eared, spoiled and selfish Elf Prince! He hoped that his father would not learn the exact nature of his end for it would cause him great distress to know that his son had died, defending not the ring bearer, but rather the son of his sworn enemy. It would surely haunt him in all of his days to come and Gimli would not be surprised if outright war between Gloin and Thranduil might be the end result, as well.

His axe contacted with another creature and a howl of a different sort from what had been heard earlier split the night air. Thirteen, he thought grimly. Only thirteen to go now. He had only just raised his axe when, once again, the same anguished howl filled the air, followed quickly by another and another. Confusion tore through the dark creatures arraigned about him and several along the back of the pack turned toward the tree.

He should have known that the Elf would not listen to him. He might have, Gimli was forced to admit, if he had not so recently been taunted as to his helplessness. But, at least he stuck to shooting arrows and had not, as of yet, climbed down to join the battle on the ground, though Gimli was fairly certain it was because he couldn't climb, not because the thought hadn't crossed his mind.

The Orcs did not take the matter of arrows raining down on them in stride and returned fire as best they could, shouting - Elf! Elf! – slavering over the word as if they cried for a piece of fresh meat. Or worse. The thought increased Gimli's own intensity and he struck out harder at the fell creatures surrounding him. There were far too many though and he felt himself pushed away from the tree and what he was there to protect. He hacked and slashed with every bit of strength he could gather. He could see through the pack that several had taken to the trunk and were attempting to climb though they had little skill for it. They fell quickly to perfectly placed arrows. But Gimli knew that the Elf's supply would not last forever and neither would his strength – each draw of his bow had to be costing him dearly and the pull on his stitches could easily tear them open. Bleeding to death would not be far behind.

His lapse of attention to his own situation earned him a cuff to the head from the flat edge of an Orc blade. He was momentarily stunned, though his metal helm took the brunt of the blow. It did not save him from the shoulder that quickly followed, or the arms about his middle that took him to the ground. One of the dark, disgusting creatures sat squarely on his chest, holding a gore-flecked scimitar over his neck with both hands.

"Stop!" it shouted. "Stop or I kill!"

Gimli did not hesitate. "Don't you dare stop, Elf! If you think they mean to leave us alive…" he did not get any farther. Something made contact with his face and his head snapped hard to one side. The metal helm saved him once again, though stars danced before his eyes and the clanging of whatever had hit him echoed loudly in his ears. He squeezed his eyes closed waiting for the ringing to abate.

"I'm coming!" he heard a soft, melodious voice sound through the ringing. "Don't do that again. I'm coming down." Gimli tried to shout but found that his brain was strangely disconnected from his body. His senses were operational - he could hear shuffling about him and could even feel the excitement ripple through the creature that still sat on his chest - but he could not for the life of him engage his arms which lay uselessly at his sides nor could he make his mouth say what was screaming through his head – _No! Don't you dare come down from that tree or it will be a race to see who kills you first, them or me!_ Finally, he was able to open his mouth but he could not push words through his lips. A rustle of leaves sounded to his side, the side his head was turned toward, luckily, for he was at last able to command his eyes to open and so was able to see what was happening. The Elf climbed slowly from the tree. Three Orcs were positioned below him, rocking excitedly, back and forth, on their stumpy legs.

"No bow!" one shouted. "No weapon!"

Legolas carefully removed the bow from his back and dropped it over the side. It stuck straight up in the dirt beneath the tree.

"Arrows! No arrows!"

"I haven't any left." Legolas answered, his voice weak. He did not look good. Blood already stained the front of his tunic and his face shown pale in the gathering dusk. Gimli felt the scimitar press into the side of his neck as Legolas descended and the Orc on top of him shouted, gleefully "You – don't fight us or we kill it. Understand?" Legolas nodded, flashing Gimli a quick look.

"I am wounded," he answered, his voice quavering. "I will not fight you. I cannot. You do not need to harm him. I will do as you command."

Gimli forced himself to repress a shudder, hoping the idiot Orc on his chest would think him unconscious. A shout of triumph went out when at last the hideous creatures could reach the Elf. They wrenched him from the tree and threw him hard to the ground.


	7. The Perfect Weapon

As always, thanks to my wonderful beta Sarah - I couldn't do this without you!

To my readers – you make me so very happy! To my reviewers – you make me happier still, for how else would I know that I have any readers?

Please note – I just discovered that I had something disabled such that some reviews were blocked. I've fixed that but now don't know how to thank those who review but don't provide a return address - please, please know how very much you are appreciated!

Please note too - this is a strange chapter – I'm struggling to make them a reasonable length and to do that, I wrote more - leave it to me to make something longer in order to make it shorter! The end result was a chapter of, for the most part, gratuitous violence. For those of you who dislike such a thing, please forgive - for those of you who don't – let the beatings begin!

Chapter 7

The Perfect Weapon

Gimli winced at the soft moan that sounded even above the baying of the Orcs but forced his muscles to remain relaxed. He could feel the pressure of the blade against his neck ease and the animal on his chest chortled as Legolas was dragged to his feet. The Elf hung limp between his captors, his chin resting against his chest. One of the creatures grabbed a handful of golden hair and jerked hard. Legolas' head snapped back. His eyes, however, remained tightly closed.

"Aw! It's dead," the Orc cried. "No fun for us," and he let loose of the Elf's hair. Legolas' head dropped heavily to his chest and he gave no indication that he was still in the world of the living.

"We'll see," said one of the ones holding up the Elf. Still gripping an arm, it stepped slightly in front of the archer. Gimli saw him pull his fisted claw back and a breath later, Legolas' scream rent the air as the fist made contact with the Elf's wounded side.

The Orc on Gimli's chest began to laugh, wildly. "Not dead!" he guffawed. "Not yet, but soon." It was all Gimli could do to hold himself still and not react to the scene playing out before him. There was absolutely nothing he could do right now, to change what was happening and letting the idiot Orc still holding a blade to his throat know that he was conscious would be giving away his only advantage, precious little of one though it might be.

Legolas' head hung limply again, the golden curtain of his hair hiding his features. But the Orcs were on to him. Once again, one yanked the Elf's head back while the one who had thrown the punch, wrenched the arm he still held, hard, snapping Legolas' body painfully forward, then back again. "Open your eyes, swine!" the creature snarled. "Open your eyes and look at me, or your friend there, gets his throat cut. Ya hear, me? Cut from ear to ear!"

Legolas' eyes flew open wide and immediately sought out the place on the forest floor where Gimli lay sprawled beneath his captor, focusing on the scimitar still pressed against the dwarf's neck. "No, don't!" he cried. Fear flashed across his face but was instantly extinguished, replaced with a blank look, once he saw that Gimli was still, for the most part, intact. It wouldn't take a creature with any brain, though, to know exactly how to control the archer, now. Gimli again repressed a shudder, this time of disgust that his lapse of attention had allowed this to happen, that he had put Legolas and yes, himself in mortal danger, though his well-being was secondary to the one he was honour bound to protect.

"I said look at _me_!" the Orc screeched, grabbing Legolas' chin and forcing the Elf's head up. The creature pushed his hideous face close, his foul breath fanning back the wisps of hair that had escaped the archer's braids. To Legolas' credit, he managed not to show any reaction at all as he took his time raising his eyes to meet the Orc's, the only way open to him to show any sort of defiance without ensuring painful punishment. He straightened and proudly tilted his head back, pulling against the Orc's grasping fingers, as he did. He, wisely kept his mouth shut, something Gimli found to be remarkable, knowing as well as he did how pushing the Elf usually earned the one doing the pushing a biting comment of some sort. Threat of imminent death, surely, had something to do with the Elf's sudden reticence, a weapon not having been in Gimli's arsenal during the last weeks' journey or he would most certainly have used it had he known that was all that was required to achieve the Elf's silence. But then he was reminded, brutally and painfully that it wasn't fear for his own life that held the Elf silent. Gimli knew, without a doubt, that he had become the perfect weapon that had earned that bitter reward - the perfect weapon that held the Elf not only silent, but also pliant and in dire circumstance, as well.

The Orc re-tightened his grip on Legolas' chin, even as the Elf attempted to pull away, forcing the archer's face closer, once again, and sneered. "Ah, pretty, Elf," he crooned. "So sad that you won't stay that way." Still holding the Elf securely by the chin, he began to stroke one filthy claw down the side of Legolas' cheek. Once – twice - three times the claw raked down the archer's sturdy jaw, each time digging a little deeper into the skin. By the forth time, it drew a line of blood along its path as it sliced deeply into the pale flesh. Legolas did not shudder or jerk once, remaining stoic and still as he stared, impassively, at the Orc. This only served to anger the brute. With a snarl, he stepped away and backhanded the Elf, hard, throwing his sizeable weight into the blow. Legolas' head snapped back and to the side, the Orc that still held tightly to his arm, the only thing keeping him on his feet. Before he could right himself, the Orc that Gimli now saw as the one in charge, once again grabbed the Elf's arm and then his chin, yanking his head back up. Legolas stood a little less straight, his head not held as high as before, and pain-filled eyes replaced the blank look. A trickle of blood from a split lip joined the river that was flowing from the deep cut running lengthwise down his cheek.

Thrusting his face forward again, the Orc paused, inches from Legolas'. "Ah, so pretty Elf," he crooned, again. His black tongue snaked out and followed the gash he had made on the Elf's cheek, licking the blood from the wound as he went, from top to bottom, pausing as he reached one corner of the Elf's mouth where blood had pooled from the cut, as well as from the Elf's bleeding lip. "So very pretty," he whispered. Placing his vile lips against Legolas' mouth, he began lapping at the blood that had collected there. It was too much for Gimli to hold in. Disgust, fury, fear – all three emotions raced through him at once and he could not control the tensing of his muscles. Just as Gimli recognized his mistake, however, Legolas, at last, reacted, rearing his head away from those seeking lips and began to struggle mightily against the hold his captors still had on his arms. He managed to break free from the Orc standing, surprised and unprepared before him, and swung a fist up, catching the foul creature on the side of the face, sending him crashing to the ground. The Orc on Gimli's chest tensed and Gimli felt the sharp, cold metal of a blade pressing against his throat again.

At first, Gimli had counted himself lucky that Legolas had managed to distract the creature from his tell-tale shudder. But now, as a warm trickle of his own blood flowed down both sides of his neck, the dwarf realized how very wrong he might have been – better to have been caught out being awake and aware than to have his throat slit – he wouldn't be helping anyone if that were to happen. But Legolas did nothing more, even though the worm that had been abusing him still lay sprawled helpless at his feet and the other Orcs looked unsure of themselves, now that their leader was incapacitated. Instead, the Elf's eyes once again snapped to where Gimli lay trapped on the ground. This time, he did not attempt to hide his terror. Giving only a passing glance at the scimitar held to Gimli's neck, this time, he quickly sought Gimli's eyes and seeing them open, his mouth dropped open in a silent gasp that Gimli ascribed to relief.

The battered Orc was slowly dragging himself to his feet, cursing and muttering words describing just what he was going to do to the Elf. Legolas' seemed not to hear, his eyes instead remained locked on Gimli's and all at once, a slight smile ghosted his lips. Gimli heard the words though. He held strong this time against the shudder that threatened as he grasped just exactly what sort of tortures the Orc intended for the Elf. _Only a crazy Elf could smile at a time like this_, he thought, focusing on that smile instead of the foulness coming from the Orc's mouth. The Elf must be deaf or addled. Given a choice and based on history, Gimli would have said addled.

The Orc had pulled himself, once more, to his feet. Already, the gnarled hand clawed at the Elf's chin, reaching, grasping, ready to force Legolas to bow to his will. Legolas gaze, however, remained trained on Gimli for the few moments left to him. All at once, just as the filthy claws found purchase and sunk again into the Elf's cheek - the archer winked.

_Winked?_ Gimli blinked, rapidly, to clear his vision, not sure what he had just seen and wondering if perhaps the blow to his head was causing him to imagine things. When once again he was able to focus, Legolas soft smile and piercing blue eyes were gone, blocked out by the Orc's hulking body, as this time it chose to move directly in front of Gimli's line of sight. _Blast! Double blast!_ He could see nothing of Legolas other than the golden glint of the top of his head as it reflected the fading light of the late afternoon sun, leaving Gimli to wonder if he had truly imagined it or if the Elf, had, indeed, winked at him. And what on Middle Earth did it mean, if he had? Addled. That was what the Elf was, he thought again. Perhaps Legolas was the one hallucinating after receiving one too many blows to his own head?

But then it came to Gimli just as it had that moment in the tree, a moment that had sent him reeling, almost over the side. A bond had formed once between them, a bond that he had not understood and had not seemed to have lasted, yet, it was once again here and now. He felt it, knew what that look meant even without words to explain and he was ready, ready for whatever plan the Elf had in mind, as crazy as it was sure to be. Perhaps, they were both more than just a little addled and that, no doubt was what would be required to get them out of this mess. He could see the Orc standing before Legolas, draw back his fist again. The sound of air whooshing from the Elf's lungs underscored that the fist had found its victim. Pain-filled gasps followed the sound and Gimli's heart clenched in his chest. _Whatever Legolas had in mind, he had better do it quick_, Gimli thought.

"Do it again!" the Orc on Gimli's chest howled. There was an accompanying baying from the rest of the foul group, again reminding Gimli of wolves taking up the call as they surrounded their prey just before a kill. Legolas must have made some sort of move, most likely a slump forward, for the leader Orc's hand went up again and he fumed, "Oh no, you don't!" At the same time he readied his fist, once more, to strike. "You stay awake, pretty Elf. We have plans for you!" he cackled. Only this time, the arm never extended, never made it to the Elf's unprotected ribcage. Instead, A scream cut through the still evening air and the creature before Legolas jerked backward and fell to the ground, revealing an arrow dripping with blood, held tightly in the Elf's outstretched hand, the shaft of which was invisible, shoved neatly up the Elf's sleeve. The arrow was immediately plunged into the surprised Orc still holding onto the Elf's arm and another cry rent the air. Gimli lost no time bucking the oblivious creature on his chest off onto the dirt and regaining his feet, he stomped one heavily booted foot into the Orc's solar plexus. While the Orc screamed in pain, he located his axe and with one fell strike, removed the shrieking creature's head from its shoulders.

The remaining goblins began to come out of their stupor as they realized at last that they were under siege, that the pursuers had become the pursued. There were only three left standing. They all three decided to attack the Elf, knowing that he had taken several hard blows already. But Legolas was beyond surprising. The bloody arrow was still in his hand even after taking out two foes. He danced away from the grasping creatures with a grace that belied his dire condition, moving straight for the bow that had landed with one end in the dirt. Gimli, clutching his axe, dashed forward too, shouting a battle cry as he did, hoping to draw the creatures' attention. They looked back and forth between Dwarf and Elf, as if calculating their odds of success. Gimli leapt forward, not giving them a chance to decide that neither was a good bet, choosing instead to run. The last thing he wanted was three Orcs dashing about the woods, notifying any others of their kind that there was a solitary Elf and Dwarf around, ripe for the picking.

His sudden movement was enough to sway their internal argument and they lost interest in the Elf, surging forward to meet Gimli's attack. Gimli swung wide and high and connected with a satisfying thud against the first hapless creature. But there were two left and he would have to quickly choose which would be the recipient of his second swipe, deciding in the blink of an eye which would be the most dangerous and which could he dodge most easily. He misjudged. He knew it just as soon as he took his first step in the direction of the chosen Orc. The one he had judged less able moved with a swiftness that he had never seen in one of their kind. It had its arm wrapped about Gimli's head in little more than a breath and once again, Gimli could see the gory edge of an Orc sword coming at him from the corner of his eye.


	8. What Lies Beneath

Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies – not mine, no money, just for fun.

Please Note - this story is AU!

Thanks to my wonderful beta Sarah, as always! Any mistakes you see are all mine - I've done some rewrites after her review so I've had ample opportunity to mess it all up again. To my readers - I can't thank you enough for sticking with this story and for letting me know you are out there, either through reviews or alerts or choosing this as a favorite story. You put a smile on my face :-)!!!

Chapter 8

What Lies Beneath

Instinct should have told him to duck, or at least to step back and forget the creature that was his intended target, to at least attempt to save himself. But he knew, somewhere inside that he could not give precious time to analyse at this moment, that the blade heading for his head was not his concern, knew with the assurance of one who had fought alongside another that he should concentrate on what he could do and leave what he could not to his fellow comrade at arms. Later, he would be hard pressed to understand where that surety had come from as he had fought alongside this particular comrade for a very short time and should have, given their personal and familial history, no such confidence in the other's abilities or dedication. But at that moment, in that clearing, seconds from death, Gimli had no doubt, none at all and turned his undivided attention to the creature before him. Sure enough, the threatening blade vanished from his sight at the same instant he drove his axe into the unprotected middle of the Orc he had targeted, the thud of an arrow as it imbedded itself in the owner of the sword heard even over the screams of the one he dispatched.

The night became suddenly still and silent, the quiet broken only by the sounds of the two, still living beings in the clearing, breathing, heavily. Gimli gave himself a complete minute to catch his breath before crossing the clearing with three giant strides to face the Elf. Legolas stood, wavering, bow clutched tightly in one hand as if he were still aiming his shot. "Why did you do that, you stupid Elf!" Gimli growled, anger converging on the terror that suddenly coursed through his veins, ending in a classic explosion of Dwarven temper. "You could have got yourself killed! You had no business climbing down from that tree in your condition!" Gimli reached a hand out just in time to grasp Legolas by the arm and ease him to the ground, as the Elf's legs, at last, gave out beneath him. "And you may yet have killed yourself, you fool. Why couldn't you just do as I said?"

"You'd be dead now yourself if I had, you stupid dwarf," Legolas retorted – Elves apparently did not react well to shows of Dwarven temper. His voice was stronger than Gimli would have expected though, which did nothing to temper said temper.

"That does not give you leave to act an idiot. I'm the one that will have to answer to Aragorn – how I managed to let a half dead Elf attempt to participate in battle - "

"_Attempt!?_" Legolas shouted, his face turning a shade of red bordering on purple as he raised his head, eyes flashing, to meet Gimli's own furious gaze. "Need I remind you again, _Dwarf_, that _I_ was rescuing _you_!" At that moment, Gimli began to wish that he had given himself two full minutes, maybe even three, before crossing the clearing - time enough to get over his burst of fear driven anger. He had no desire to fight – Legolas was in need of aid and had, indeed, only been doing something he, himself, would have done if put in the same situation. He was beginning to feel somewhat chastened, until, that is, the Elf opened his mouth again. "Which, if you had been a little more mindful of your duty, I would not have had to - "

"My _duty_!" Gimli broke in, eyes narrowing, dangerously.

"Yes. If you had been concentrating on what you were supposed to be doing, Dwarf, the bandage would have never ended up on the ground and none of this would have happened."

It mattered not, the truth of the Elf's words - in fact - that they were true probably had much to do with what happened next. Even though Gimli had, only moments before, been terrified that this pitiful creature would be tortured to death before his eyes, the fury that now consumed him was as powerful as any that had ever driven him in battle. He gave into that anger and allowed his tongue to give voice to, not only his present ire, but all he had been feeling this evening since Legolas' awakening. "I believe I understand better than anyone about _duty_, Elf," he spat. "I have given up my role in the Fellowship to stay behind and take care of you and I have had just about enough of your - your superior airs, Princeling. If you had not been behaving so abominably, I would never have dropped that bandage to begin with - acting as if you are too good for me to touch, as if I am your servant, only here to do your bidding! It is Aragorn that I am here for. Not _you_. And for him alone I will follow through with my promise."

He turned his back to the Elf, struggling with his composure, instantly ashamed that he had let himself get so out of hand. _It was the Elf's fault again_, he fumed, silently, this time. The ungrateful creature was anxious to lord it over him that the protector had had to be rescued by the one protected. He took a deep breath to steady himself before lifting his head to eye the tree they had hidden in, knowing he had to climb back up to retrieve the medical supplies they so desperately needed, remembering well the red blood soaking the front of the Elf's tunic. Well, that effort would surely take his attention and allow him time to corral his anger. Otherwise he would find it exceedingly difficult not to pull the bandage so tightly around the Elf's chest, when the time came, that it would cut off his air intake completely, hardly conducive to healing. He made a quick circuit of the field of battle, assuring himself that all of the Orcs were dead before returning to the trunk of the tree and assessing the best way up.

"What do you think you are doing?" Legolas muttered from behind. "You can't climb."

"Says who?" Gimli snorted, not even deigning to look in the Elf's direction. "I can climb better than you." It proved to be a lot easier to say than it was to do. But climb he did and before long he was once again on good solid, safe ground at the Elf's side. "Can you move?" he asked, gruffly. "Just a little way? I would rather not do this here, around them." He tossed his head toward the pile of dead Orcs, wrinkling his nose at the already overpowering stench, knowing it would only worsen. Legolas remained exactly where Gimli had left him, still on his knees, one hand clasped to his side, his fingers stained with fresh blood.

"I can," Legolas ground out, his face set in a tight mask. Gimli grabbed him by the elbow and steadied him, but despite his declaration, the Elf wavered, unable to pull himself to his feet. His face went white. He collapsed, his legs buckling beneath him. "It seems I cannot," he rasped, slumping his shoulders in defeat. It was all Gimli could do not to say, "I told you so", but he closed his mouth around the words, though his anger still burned hot in his chest. The effort to climb had brought him back to his senses enough to be civil but had done little to calm his inner turmoil. He dropped his axe and the bag on his back, to the ground.

"Very well. You can't do what you can't do," he stated. He leaned forward; his face inches from the Elf's and said flatly, "I'm sorry to have to touch you Elf. I know how much you hate it, but I know of no other way." Gimli did not give Legolas a chance to respond before grasping him about the middle and slinging him unceremoniously across his shoulder, noting with grim satisfaction that the Elf had the good grace to look ashamed. Whether it was shame at his predicament – riding across the back of a dwarf – or shame at the truth of Gimli's words, he did not know, nor, at this point, did he care. They were hardly safe in their position on the ground, surrounded by rotting, dead things that would be very attractive to a multitude of dangerous animals, nor would they be any time soon, even after moving. Gimli would never be able to get them both back up a tree, so they would be fending for themselves in the open. He dumped the Elf with something less than gentleness to the ground, in a small clearing a short distance from the one they had left, turning at once to retrieve his axe and the pack. It was his turn to feel shame when he heard the Elf's soft intake of breath on his landing.

_Ai! How had they fallen so far back into their old ways and in such short a time?_ He wondered. Was the hope of friendship between them truly all words then - a wicked manipulation on the part of that wicked creature? And had Gimli fallen for it - a hope born of his sorrow over the loss of Gandalf, and the desire for something good to come out of that aching sadness that had allowed him to believe the Elf when he had called him friend? Gimli sucked in his own breath and squared his shoulders. He was not an Orc, not a creature that lacked care or concern. He would not be here at all if he were.

He was extremely gentle as he cleaned both the wound on the Elf's cheek and the one in his side and liberally applied the healing salve, once more, refusing to give into the anger that rippled just below the surface as the Elf stiffened beneath his every touch. The cut in the Elf's face had already stopped bleeding but blood flowed from the one in his side, unchecked, most of the stitches having pulled free. Legolas was obviously struggling to keep himself conscious and still. "You'd best lie down, Elf," Gimli ordered. "I can hardly fix you like this." He shuddered at the thought of stitching the Elf back together again, but there really wasn't any other option. The sooner he got to it, too, the sooner the Elf would stop losing blood that he could ill afford to lose. He explained this to Legolas as he eased him onto a blanket pulled from the pack and spread on the ground at the Elf's back. Legolas' eyes had drifted closed before Gimli was even able to complete his sentence. Good. The supply of pain killing drug was growing frightfully low and he had no idea how long they would be stuck out here in the middle of nowhere.

Gimli was by no means a healer or even a decent substitute for one, but when the dwarf sat back and reviewed his handiwork after completing his task, he was fairly well pleased with himself. The Elf hadn't moved a muscle the entire time, for which Gimli was grateful. It was, therefore, a great shock when he turned back from discarding the soiled bandage he had just replaced, only to find Legolas gazing at him, eyes clouded with pain. "I – I am sorry, Elf," he stuttered, reaching at once for the bag of herbs. "I had no idea you were conscious or I would have given you something for the pain". Legolas shook his head and reached a hand out, wrapping burning fingers around Gimli's wrist.

"No – I – no. Don't need anything…"

"But you are in pain. That is plain to see. And your fever has spiked again, it seems."

"I am fine. I may need later. I can manage…now." His eyes flicked warily about the clearing Gimli had settled them in. "Move. You must move. Not…safe…here."

Gimli's eyes followed the same trek about the clearing and came to the same conclusion. "Aye, you are right there, but we won't be going anywhere for a bit. You must rest, Elf." It hadn't escaped him that the edge that had been in the Elf's voice had softened, no doubt due to exhaustion and the wearying effects of fever. Legolas' eyes fluttered closed and he quieted. Gimli began to think that he slept. He started to rise, to search the area and see if there might be someplace that offered even a little protection rather than the openness of the clearing. The fingers still grasping his wrist tightened however, holding him in place and Legolas began to speak, though his eyes remained closed.

"I am sorry, Gimli," he whispered.

Gimli leaned forward to better hear the soft words, not at all certain that he had heard correctly. "What do you say?"

"I - I apologize for how I've acted. Am…frustrated," the Elf sighed. The hand loosened from Gimli's wrist and fell without restraint against the Elf's chest as if he hadn't the strength any longer, to hold it up.

"Frustrated?" Gimli huffed. "You blame how you have been acting on mere frustration? You truly have some nerve. I would have a good mind to thrash you, if you had not already been thoroughly thrashed, that is."

Legolas grimaced. "I know," he murmured. "Not enough. Hardly―" he sucked in a breath, attempting to silence a groan that still managed to escape, despite his efforts, the sound sending a sudden rush of guilt through Gimli's gut, making him feel quite like an Orc, contrary to his earlier declaration. The Elf swallowed heavily and opened his eyes, focusing a surprisingly steel blue gaze on Gimli. "You see, I – I don't want you here. I – I wish so much for you…to be gone."

Though no less than Gimli had expected, he still felt as if the Elf had punched him in the stomach. He wondered if this was how the evil creature planned to accomplish his revenge - to garner sympathy one moment by moaning in pain and apologizing, then telling Gimli he wanted him gone the next; to belt him across the face with words and feelings, since he had no other weapon at his disposal, given his current condition. As he glared back at the Elf, Gimli tried to push down his anger and, to his surprise, his regret, a feeling he could not deny but which confounded him – why should he feel regret?

He had wanted to be friends, he realized with a start. Even beyond wanting something to ease the aching pain he felt at the loss of Gandalf, he had wanted a chance to get to know the Elf. There – as embarrassing as that was to admit - he had to admit it, for it was the truth. He really couldn't say what, exactly, drew him to the creature, though the memory of the Elf, surrounded by butterflies, twirling and laughing with unbridled joy and the easy camaraderie they had shared up in the tree the night before had something to do with it. He couldn't say and it no longer mattered. They would never be friends now. That it had been a sham, a ploy on the Elf's part caused his anger, but the regret was his own.

Legolas' breath hitched and the Elf bit his lip as if to stifle yet another moan. This time, Gimli refused to give in to any feeling of guilt and moved again to stand and take himself away for a bit until he could be certain that he would not be showing any of the feelings that assailed him. He would not give the Elf the satisfaction of knowing his ploy had worked and just how much effect he had managed to have. Before he could take to his feet however, the Elf blew air through his elegant nose in a most un-Elflike manner, drawing Gimli's attention. Once more, piercing blue eyes sought his and the archer began to speak, his words slurred and choppy, punctuated by sharp intakes of breath. "I don't…want you here. Because…I know that you do not wish to be…here." Legolas cast his gaze about him, as if searching the depths of the forest surrounding them. "And 'tis dangerous," he said, his voice dropping. "Too dangerous. There's naught I can do to…protect you."

"Protect _me_?"

"If – if anything were to happen to you, it'd be my fault. All my fault. And that I cannot abide. You've stayed, because of me, Gimli, I know that. I…appreciate that. I know that I'm _not_ why you undertook this - this journey. I'm…no reason for you to risk…your life. Frodo's that. Not me." He turned his head away, but Gimli could still see his lips pulling into a grimace of pain before he found the strength to continue. He dropped his head back against the hard ground and cried out in anger, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "Ai, how I wish I could rise! I've been trying to will myself to, but…can't. It angers me. Frustrates me. And I hate that you must…do all…for me. I can't even…can't sit without your help. You are right Gimli - I am no better than a newborn. I am no warrior," he said, bitterly.

The Elf quieted suddenly and a soft pink stained his cheeks. He swallowed heavily and forced his gaze back to Gimli. "I – I do not shy from your touch, Gimli," he said, softly. "It is just…just…" His blush deepened and the Elf looked away again. "It hurts," he whispered, his voice now so soft that Gimli had to lean closer in order to hear. "And…and I am ashamed at how much it does and how little I am able to bear, pulling away even though you are only trying to help me. I am weak and I find that to be – unforgivable."

Once again, his eyes sought Gimli's and a look of utter shame mixed with heartbreaking sorrow attacked Gimli's resolve. "'Tis not your fault, _mellon-nîn_," the Elf said, his voice hoarse and rasping. "Not your fault. I've no right to…to…take my frustration out…on you. Please, forgive…me." It was clear that he had exhausted whatever energy stores he had remaining. His eyelids drooped closed again and his breathing became grinding and erratic.

Gimli was left shaken and stupefied. If this was manipulation then he was bound to give credit where it was due for it was impossible to believe that the glistening in the Elf's eyes was due to fever alone, that the words just spoken were not heartfelt. _Mellon_. He remembered the word from Moria. It meant friend.

Gimli drew a deep breath of his own as he stared down at the gasping Elf. He had made many changes in his life the last few days. He had accepted many things that hitherto had been unacceptable to him. He had done things he would never have imagined himself capable of doing. This would be one more to add to the list. If this were manipulation, he would allow himself to be manipulated and this time, without regret. "I believe, Elf," he replied carefully, "that I have found yet another way that you and I are alike – I am not a good patient myself, though I must admit that you make me appear a fairly decent one in comparison, that's how awful you are. In fact, I believe that you are quite possibly the worst patient I have ever seen. I'm not thinking you've battled many fevers, have you? You're an Elf and Elves don't take ill, so I've heard said. Well, fever makes every inch of your skin hurt and touching only makes it hurt more. 'Tis no shame to hurt, Elf. It means you yet live, for which I never thought I would hear myself say - I am grateful." He reached a hand out to touch the archer's where it rested on his chest.

Legolas struggled to open his eyes again, successful with but one of them. "If it is forgiveness you crave, then I will provide it," Gimli rumbled. "But I prefer that, in the future, you just tell me that you are not feeling yourself and that will be enough for me to forgive your behaviour without requiring anymore in the way of apologies. I'll work a little harder to put up with your ungratefulness, your bad manners, your superciliousness…" A slight smile tugged at the corners of the Elf's mouth and Gimli could detect a distinct twinkle in the one, still functioning eye. "Do we have an accord?" Legolas mouthed the word, yes. The eye disappeared behind its drooping lid, once more.

"And further more, Elf," Gimli continued, warming to his speech, though he couldn't be certain his audience was still listening. "I chose to be here. No one forced me. I aim to get you well and to join back up with the Fellowship in Lórien. Our part in this adventure is far from over. All this means is that I have to spend less time amongst more of you pointy-eared creatures, which for me, is a blessing. Do not apologize to me for that, rather, congratulate me on my good fortune." He gave the hand beneath his a pat and stood, surveying the area around them again with an eye to something that might offer even a small bit of safety compared to where they were presently situated. "We do need to move, I am afraid and we will move, with or without your help." There was no answer from the Elf and when Gimli checked, both eyes were still firmly closed.

He rolled his shoulders and flexed his arm muscles, readying himself to haul the Elf up once more when he heard sounds, a soft snap of a branch followed by another. Orcs! There wasn't time to hide, he realized, wondering how they had managed to sneak up on him but knowing how easy it would be to do, given that his attention had been trained on the Elf and nothing else. He grasped his axe in both hands and stood over Legolas, ready to defend the Elf to the death, something that, given their odds, seemed rather, possibly, likely.


	9. How to Best an Elf

Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies – not mine, no money, just for fun.

Please Note - this story is AU!

Thanks to my wonderful beta Sarah for her time, patience, understanding and expert beta-ing skills. Thanks also to all of you who have stuck with me to this, the end. To those who have reviewed – I can't thank you enough for your wonderful words and support - it means the world to know there are those out there reading and liking! I wanted to thank Istnes in particular – you gave me such heartfelt and amazing reviews but my thanks just bounced back to me, so hopefully you will see this and know how very much you are appreciated! And now, the end:

Chapter 9

How to Best an Elf

_They were silent Orcs,_ thought Gimli as he tightened his grip on his axe. He could see a ghostly figure coming towards him, hidden in the dark shadows of the forest. It moved so smoothly too, not like any Orc he had ever seen. He was beginning to doubt that it _was _an Orc when a low whistle justified his thinking. Gimli vaulted across Legolas' still body, prepared to face whatever new terror might await them.

"Peace Gimli!" he heard a voice cry out.

"Aragorn!" A man materialized from the shadows. It was indeed the Ranger striding quickly across the clearing, dropping to the ground at Legolas' side. Gimli felt such relief that he went weak in the knees and had to struggle to keep to his feet. "What are you doing here?"

"How is he?" the man asked, ignoring Gimli's admittedly inane question while placing a palm across the Elf's forehead. Almost at once his eyes dropped to the gash on Legolas' cheek and he cried, "Ai! Where did this cut come from? What? Did he fall from the tree again?"

"He did not fall from the tree," Gimli stated.

"Well that's a relief," the Ranger responded. "I'm not sure his pride could take two falls in one week and you witnessing them both."

"He decided to jump from the tree during an Orc attack, instead," Gimli groused. "As if he would be of any use whatsoever."

Aragorn's eyes flew open wide and he shot the dwarf a sharp look before turning to quickly attack the few clasps of Legolas' tunic Gimli had made the effort to close. "And was he?" he asked, evenly, his voice stretched taut and thin.

"Was he what?"

"Was he useful? Did he help you with the Orcs?"

"Well," Gimli grumbled. "I suppose he was at that. But at a great price, I fear." He knelt down beside the Ranger, dropping his axe to the ground, happier than he had ever been to see a human being.

Aragorn's fingers were shaking as he opened the Elf's tunic and pulled up the bandage. He uttered a relieved grunt upon seeing Gimli's handiwork. "Excellent work, Gimli. I had no idea you were such a seamstress," he said. "I suppose he ruined my hard work when he jumped from the tree?"

"Yes. Well, perhaps then," Gimli answered absently, cocking his head as he surveyed the neat row of stitches he had just made in the archer's side. "Or perhaps it was when one of those beasts planted a fist in his stomach. Or when he threw his own punch - that might have done it - or could have been when he was drawing his bow…" Aragorn's eyes widened again and he turned back to his patient, practiced hands now roving frantically up and down the archer's ribs, searching for new injuries.

"All is clear," a voice, soft and melodic said from behind them, the shock of it sending Gimli sprawling across Legolas' legs. He immediately grasped his axe again and came to his feet, at once. "Ai! Relax stunted one," the same melodic voice chimed although with an intensity that gave it surprising power. An Elf, golden haired like Legolas but broader through the shoulders stepped from the shadows. "It is a wonder your kind survives, given your appalling lack of senses." Aragorn had risen beside Gimli and placed a cautionary hand on the dwarf's shoulder.

"All is well, Gimli. This is Haldir, Marchwarden of Lórien. And these are his brothers, Rúmil and Orophin," the Ranger nodded toward two more golden-haired Elves as they stepped into the clearing. "They are here to help." All three Elves shared facial features beyond their hair that spoke of their common ancestry. They were fair as were all of their kind, but Gimli could not help but think how different their beauty was from that of Legolas'. These Elves had hard features; thin, pale lips and flint grey eyes that held no mirth. Legolas, on the other hand, had eyes the colour of the sea that seemed to reflect all that was of nature around him. There was a congeniality about him too, not the blatant suspicion that emanated from the one called Haldir who looked down his nose at Gimli with an almost tangible distrust.

"Have you ever met the Prince of Mirkwood?" Aragorn asked, stepping aside and indicating Legolas with a wave of his hand. Haldir stepped forward, frowning. The two brothers kept their vigil on the edges of the clearing.

"No," the Elf responded. "I have never met the young Prince, but I have heard of his skill with a bow." Haldir assessed Legolas with a detached eye. "He does not look like a warrior…"

Gimli bristled. "Well, neither would you look like a 'warrior', as you say," he broke in, "if you had had a poisoned arrow embedded in your ribs for days." He pushed himself between the surprised Elf and Legolas, forcing the creature back a step and then two. "An arrow that you took while trying to protect the other members of your group, I might add!" Again, Aragorn placed a hand on his shoulder. The Elf splayed his hands before him.

"Peace, stunted one. I meant no offence. You did not allow me to finish – he does not look like a warrior _from Mirkwood, _I intended to say. He is as golden haired as a Lórien Elf. I meant nothing against his skill, which, I have no doubt is exceptional, if what I have heard of him is true."

"Gimli," Aragorn's calm voice broke in. "Would you help me, please? I need to get this wound rewrapped and then we need to find somewhere safer to rest until Legolas is ready to travel." He tugged on Gimli's shoulder. Gimli glared a moment longer at the Elf, ignoring the flicker of amusement in the other's eyes before turning to kneel beside the Ranger, ignoring Aragorn's look of out and out shock.

&

They found another tree to climb and there they remained for three days and nights. Gimli sat beside Legolas for most of that time, serving as Aragorn's second in anything required and gradually coming to an understanding with the other three Elves. Aragorn was at first shocked by Gimli's fierce protectiveness as he stood guard over their incapacitated friend, with shock gradually turning to amazement.

_Their_ friend! A Dwarf calling an Elf, friend – incredible! But Gimli did just that on several occasions, even though Legolas was unconscious and could hear none of what was said of him. And equally as incredible – the Elf allowed Gimli to help him once he was awake and aware. If Aragorn had had any idea that the result of leaving an injured Legolas in Gimli's capable hands would have resulted in such a change in their attitudes toward one another, he might have considered sacrificing the Elf to some slight injury at the very start of their journey together, a small price to pay for peace.

Beyond incredible and cause for no small measure of jealousy on Aragorn's part was the fact that Legolas allowed the helping, without complaint. Aragorn, the Elf's closest friend for many long years, rarely received that honour - he was permitted to help only after being tortured with a litany of whines and complaints, arguments and denials. Gimli offered a cup of medicine and Legolas took it. Gimli told him he could not rise and Legolas relaxed again against the blankets without a word. It might have been enough to drive Aragorn to protest if not for the sheer beauty of the quiet that reigned during the Elf's all too brief convalescence.

Legolas' fever broke, at last, and his wound stopped its incessant bleeding. It was time to go, though Aragorn insisted that they make a litter and Legolas be carried through the forest. At that point, the Elf's cooperation with any of them, Gimli included, came to an end. But with more sleeping drugs, this time hidden in his broth, once again, Aragorn won out. That took care of day one. Day two would not be so simple – Legolas awoke in a surly mood, made worse by the firm hand Aragorn placed upon his chest to hold him down when he tried to rise and the fact that the Ranger had captured both of his slender wrists in a firm hold so he couldn't escape. "Easy, Legolas. You need to relax, to rest. You will hurt yourself."

"I am fine," the Elf ground out, gritting his teeth and arching his back, trying to buck the Ranger's hand from his chest, all the while struggling fiercely to free his hands. "But I will hurt _you_ if you don't let me up!" he threatened.

"You need at the very least another day not walking, Legolas, and you know it," Aragorn insisted, his hand pressing down harder on the Elf's chest, though concerned, even as he did that the Elf might hurt himself with his struggle. "I can see it just by looking at you. It is obvious that you are exhausted and that you hurt."

"You cannot force me, Aragorn," the archer bristled. "You do not command me! I am fine. Now, let-me-up!" He at last freed his wrists and grasped Aragorn's hand, flinging it from his chest. He rose at once to a sitting position and scooted on his backside away from the Ranger, stopping only when a tree at his back forced an end to his escape. His eyes remained wide and trained warily on Aragorn's every move.

Aragorn sighed heavily before pulling himself to his feet. "You know I want only what is best for you, Legolas."

"And I'm supposed to believe anything that comes from your mouth when all you do is lie to me and trick me?" the Elf countered.

"That is hardly _all_ I do, my friend," Aragorn sighed again. "And besides, I never lied to you," he pointed out. "I tricked you, yes, but I never lied to you. Gimli gave you the drugged water, not I. And I never said I wouldn't put something in your broth, now, did I?"

"Humph," Legolas snorted.

Aragorn rolled his eyes. "Very well," he said, shrugging his shoulders in defeat. After all, what else could he do? Knock the stubborn creature on the head? The Elf certainly wouldn't be taking any food or drink from Aragorn's hand or Gimli's either, for that matter. And the Ranger doubted that the Lórien Elves would have any better luck – Mirkwood and Lothlórien did not share the most trusting of relationships. "I promise not to trick you," Aragorn consented. "I will not put you to sleep again against your will. Nor will I resort to violence to accomplish what you know you should do."

"And I'm supposed to believe you?" Legolas repeated, dragging himself shakily to his feet, his back still pressed against the tree as if protecting himself from a rear attack. "Humph," he snorted again.

"Eloquent, as always," Aragorn muttered. He spun away and began furiously pacing in frustration about their campsite, tucked away beside a lovely glade, making a point of avoiding the spot where Legolas stood, back planted firmly against the tree trunk. The Ranger paused and cast his gaze out across the sun-dappled field, trying to calm his worry, wondering what he might do to win another day of rest for his friend. Legolas should not be up and moving about - not yet. His wound was far from healed and he could easily break it open again, not to mention the fact that he was weak and in pain, neither of which he would ever admit. That he was even alive at this moment was nothing short of miraculous and Aragorn did not want to tempt fate any more than it had already been tempted.

He sighed heavily, recognizing that he could not force his friend to lie down on the stretcher, though he had briefly considered trying that approach. He had realized quickly that although he might have been able to wrestle the Elf onto it and perhaps could also have managed to tie him there, given Legolas' weakened condition, he could very well end up causing more harm than good if he tried; harm to the Elf's health and even to their friendship, if only temporarily - Legolas could be proud to the point of ridiculous, even dangerous, at times as witnessed by his present behaviour. He was his father's son, in that respect. Aragorn was about to start his useless pacing once more when something in the waving grass caught his observant eye. He stood watching for a moment, letting the sight soothe his frazzled nerves until a sudden thought filled his head. And gave him hope. He turned to face the Elf. "I promise not to trick you but I demand that you give me the opportunity to win your acquiescence."

"And why would I do such a thing?" Legolas responded, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Because to not do so would be to admit that the dwarf is more capable than you are."

"Never!"

Aragorn smiled. This was going to be easier than he had thought. "Eloquent and predictable," he snorted but not so quietly that the Elf didn't hear.

Legolas folded his arms smugly across his chest. "Predictable perhaps. A predictable winner."

"We shall see about that," Aragorn stated, unable to keep the grin from his face.

"So," Legolas said, ignoring him and warming to the subject. "What is this task you set before me that will prove me more capable than a dwarf."

"A simple matter, really. If you are so healthy that you can walk, well, then, you can walk across that field there and get to the other side before Gimli does." Legolas moved carefully toward the edge of the glade, keeping a wary eye on Aragorn, as if the Ranger might suddenly attack him. He sized up the distance before turning back, his eyes once again narrowed with suspicion.

"You must be jesting, of course."

"No."

"Then you have no intention of keeping your word, or you are trying to trick me again."

Aragorn gazed at him, patiently. "I promise you Legolas, on our friendship, I neither lie to you nor do I trick you. I want what is best for you only, but will not attempt to achieve that without your agreement in the matter. I can only accomplish that, I believe, by the means I put before you now. You will be the one to decide your fate. Not I. You have my word."

"I have only to cross this field ahead of Gimli and you will allow me to walk the remainder of the distance to Lórien," Legolas stated, disbelief edging his every word.

Aragorn nodded, solemnly.

"Say it aloud, Aragorn. I do not want it to be said that I 'misinterpreted' your nod."

"Yes. That is correct. Make it across this field ahead of Gimli and I will allow you to walk the remainder of our journey."

"With your blessing."

"Nay! That I will not say. It will not be with my blessing that you walk and likely send your stubborn self to the Halls of Mandos but I will allow you to walk unhindered by my complaining and wheedling."

It took Legolas but a moment to accept the offer. "Very well. I accept your terms and your contest. Where is Gimli?" Predictable indeed!

The dwarf appeared at just that moment, having been scouting the area for Orcs along with Haldir. The other two Elves had been listening, with veiled amusement, to the banter between Prince and Ranger, curious, but not understanding what was happening.

"I am here," Gimli stated. "Have you had some sense driven into that flighty head of yours, Elf? Walking is hardly an option for you in your condition and I would like to get on with it. I've been promised a good meal in Lórien and I would dearly love to have a good meal. I certainly don't want you slowing us down any more than you already have." Gimli chuckled at the dark glower that sprang to Legolas' face.

"Gimli," Aragorn broke in quickly. "Since you are so anxious to arrive at Lórien soon, I have managed to wring from our friend here an agreement that if he can beat you in a foot race across this field then he will walk the rest of the way to Lórien. I think that would prove that he is indeed well enough if he can manage such a feat. If he loses, he will allow himself to be carried, without complaint." Gimli placed a hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes from the morning sun as he examined the path that Aragorn indicated.

"Across there?" he asked, his voice rising at the end.

"Yes," Aragorn answered, calmly.

"Yes, Gimli," Legolas chimed in. "That shouldn't be difficult for you. I am after all merely a flighty headed Elf. No reason you can't beat me, now is there, given my 'condition', as you put it?"

"Well, no, I suppose not," he answered ignoring Legolas completely as he turned back around, instead pinning the Ranger with an incredulous look. "My legs are, after all, half the length of yours and I'm wearing chain mail versus your leggings and light tunic. No problem at all, I would say."

"Now Gimli," Aragorn placated, placing a hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "You have only to remember what you know of your friend and this shouldn't prove to be difficult at all."

"What I know of my friend…"

"Yes."

Legolas shot Aragorn a warning look. "No tricks, Aragorn. Remember? You promised."

"No tricks," Aragorn answered, splaying his hands before him. "I am only reminding Gimli that he knows you better than he thinks. Knows you better than you know yourself, I believe."

"Highly unlikely." Legolas responded turning away. "When do we begin?"

"Why, now I think. We need to get moving or we'll get nowhere today. Gimli?"

The dwarf sighed, shrugged his shoulders and started for the Elf's side. Aragorn stopped him, placing a hand, again, on his shoulder. "Remember, Gimli, what I told you?"

"Told me?"

"Do not assume for a minute that you can take Legolas on in anything. You will need wiles in order to best him. And, I believe, Gimli, that you are up to the task. You are a most observant individual." Gimli gazed at Aragorn long and hard. Suddenly, his eyes widened and understanding, at last, dawned.

"I would like to walk the path first, Elf," he said, eyes still on Aragorn, a smile quirking his lips. "I think I might need to check the terrain."

Legolas spun around to face both man and dwarf. "Oh, no you don't. You two have conspired against me before. I won't fall for that again. Just as Aragorn promised, Gimli, so must you."

"Promise what?"

"That you will do nothing to trick me in this test."

"You have my word, Elf. I will not trick you." The Elf continued to regard the dwarf uneasily for a moment but at long last relented and stepped back, waving a hand toward the open field.

"Very well, but if you think I will acquiesce if you cheat, you are mistaken."

"You will acquiesce, Elf, because you will lose," Gimli chortled, his confidence firmly in place as he wandered out slowly across the field. Legolas kept a keen eye on him as he went. He had gone only partway across the field when he turned and scurried back.

"Very well, Elf. I am ready," he stated serenely, ignoring the look of suspicion Legolas cast him.

"Now, the one rule of this race…" Aragorn began.

Legolas interrupted with a groan. "I knew it! Already a rule. This will not be a fair race, I'm sure. What do I have to do – race on my knees?" Aragorn rolled his eyes.

"No, not on your knees. The only rule is that you must walk. You cannot run. Is that so difficult, Legolas? You can certainly out-walk a dwarf, can you not?"

"Of course I can. No trouble at all." He ignored Gimli though the daggers being thrust into the side of his head from the dwarf's eyes must have stung all the same. The two lined up beside each other. Legolas was smiling brightly, seemingly relaxed, though Aragorn could easily sense the fatigue that hummed through his body and the pain that he fought to control, the entire reason for this contest. The Elf needed at least a week before he should perform any sort of physical exertion, at all. Aragorn knew he would be lucky if he managed to keep the stubborn fool down for another day. He would use his own Elven taught wiles to see if he could bring that about, knowing that if Legolas were remotely healthy, this ploy of his would never work. Still, even given Legolas' less than stellar health, success rested squarely on Gimli's shoulders.

The other three Elves looked on in amusement as Aragorn began to count. At three the two mismatched opponents both took off walking, Aragorn following at a discreet distance. Legolas, of course, took the lead at once but did not capitalize on it. He instead took the opportunity to lord over the dwarf that he was infinitely faster. He sped up then slowed down, pausing to let Gimli get a little in front before taking off again and passing him. Gimli, serious as could be, put his head down and just walked, straight and even, not too fast, not too slow. Midway across the glade, he stopped. "Why, look here!" he said, turning slightly and gazing out across a field of wild flowers, his hands clasped behind his back. Legolas stopped and sauntered back, his eyes wary but eager too, joining Gimli in his contemplation of the beauty spread out before them.

The Elf had been trained since before he could walk to be careful, watchful, and ever vigilant. At any moment a spider could strike, an Orc or a Warg attack. But this was a quiet glade with a man and a dwarf nearby, armed and dangerous, not to mention three fellow Elves guarding their backs. Legolas let down his guard though Aragorn was quite certain that if he had been himself, he would not have. Then again, when the sight that Gimli's eyes rested upon caught Legolas' attention as well, Aragorn couldn't have sworn that even if the field had held a horde of Orcs and a pack of Wargs, the Elf wouldn't have done exactly what he did. Aragorn, in fact, was counting on it. Legolas let out a soft cry and took several steps off of the path before dropping to his knees in the field of flowers.

"Butterflies!" he cried, holding his arms out before him as if beckoning the tiny creatures to come to him. And come to him they did. They fluttered around him, lighting on his shoulders, his arms, his golden head. Gimli seemed himself to be mesmerized, not part of the plan at all. "Look Gimli!" the Elf called. "Look at their colours. Aren't they beautiful?" The dwarf took a step off the path too, only to be stilled by a hand to his shoulder followed by a stern look from Aragorn.

"Yes, Elf, they are," the dwarf answered, though his attention was back where it needed to be.

Aragorn moved off of the path while simultaneously pulling Gimli back onto it and knelt beside his friend. "Do you know why their wings are such bright colours and carry such an intricate pattern?" he asked.

Legolas responded without taking his eyes off of a particularly beautiful specimen that had landed, trustingly, on his chest, "No. Do you?"

Aragorn laughed. "Of course, I know everything, do I not? I am a Ranger after all," he smirked. Legolas rolled his eyes, still concentrating on the butterfly clinging to his tunic. "Agree or I shan't tell you."

"Well, you certainly know more than I do about butterflies," Legolas admitted, chuckling. "Tell me or I'll command this one to attack." he grinned, his finger gently nudging the one still clinging bravely to his chest. "I sense he likes me and would do my bidding."

"Well that is something you know about butterflies that I do not," Aragorn laughed. "I never heard of one who would attack on command, certainly not at the command of a flighty Elf."

Legolas, only half-listening, ordered, "Well, believe it and continue, or risk annihilation."

"Very well, very well. I bow to you. The fear of being attacked by a butterfly renders me helpless before you." With a quick glance to Gimli after ensuring that Legolas was still engrossed in observing the butterfly on his chest, Aragorn began his explanation. "The colour and design of a butterfly's wings are used both to repel and attract. See this?" With a finger hovering above one golden wing, Aragorn traced a dark line that formed an intricate pattern across the velvety surface. "It allows the butterfly to blend into its surroundings, when viewed from above, so that birds cannot identify them as prey." Legolas leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching Aragorn's as they both examined the tiny insect. "And they are used also to attract a mate," Aragorn finished, a smile quirking his lips.

"Repel and attract," Legolas grunted, approvingly.

"Yes, much like how your own beauty repels and attracts," Aragorn chided, digging his elbow gently into Legolas' uninjured side. "Repels lovely maidens but attracts all manner of Orcs and wargs and spiders." Legolas however was having none of it, still entranced by the butterfly that had taken wing from his tunic and now darted about his head.

"I refuse to listen to you," he said, a rapt smile fixed upon his face.

"Well," a voice called from afar. "Perhaps you will listen to me!" Legolas turned toward the voice, recognizing in an instant what had happened. He leapt to his feet but it was too late - much too late. Gimli stood at the far end of the clearing, one step away from victory. He lifted his leg high and stamped it into place. Legolas gave a soft moan.

"You tricked me," he muttered under his breath to the Ranger still kneeling at his side.

"I did no such thing," Aragorn stated, offended. He drew himself to his feet. "You tricked yourself. No one forced you to stop and have a conversation about butterflies."

"But you knew they were here before you made this wager with me."

"Aye, I'll admit to that."

"And Gimli did not think of this on his own."

"I did not tell him anything, Legolas. I merely set up the circumstances. Perhaps he knows you fairly well after observing you so closely these last weeks. I think the only time he was _not _observing you on this journey was when he was at last forced to sleep. I believe he has learned a few things about you in that time. Can you not say the same of him?"

Legolas gazed out across the field, toward the dwarf who was now dancing blithely back and forth from foot to foot, shouting. "Other than the fact that dwarves cannot dance?" he grumbled.

"Yes, other than that."

"Or sing," he added, grimacing, when Gimli's shouts turned into something sounding much like the squeals of a wild pig caught in a trap.

"Other than that, too."

"Hmm." Legolas' eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips. Aragorn could only hope that the Elf thought further on the question posed and not on devising some way out of his promise. He was rewarded when, suddenly, a soft smile broke across his friend's face. "Perhaps I can," the Elf mused.

"Good things?"

"Yes."

"Such as?"

Legolas cocked his head, the smile still quirking the corners of his lips. "Dwarves are hard headed," he said, chuckling.

"And, what else?" Aragorn prodded.

"They are fierce warriors. I would not want to face one in battle."

"And?"

The light air about the Elf faded and he sobered, the smile turning thoughtful and – bemused. "They are loyal, to a fault. Gimli would have died ere he would have allowed anything to happen to me. He owed me nothing, Estel. He did not even like me..."

"I do not believe that," Aragorn avowed, shaking his head. "Not for a moment. But yes, loyal Gimli is, and that is a trait of most Dwarves I have met."

"And stubborn. Ai! He would not see reason if it hit him between the eyes!"

An answering smile had begun to grow on Aragorn's face. "Yes, stubborn is a good way to describe Gimli. Loyal, stubborn. What else?"

"Honest and forthright and true. I would stake my life on the fact that he would do what he said he would do, if he could. That he would speak the truth, at all cost. That if he would ever call me friend, that I would have him as one for life, no matter how foolish or idiotic or "flighty" I might be."

"Friend?"

"If he would ever deign to call me that."

"You are observant, young son of Thranduil," Aragorn asserted, placing a hand on Legolas' shoulder. "Those are indeed traits I would have said of Gimli too. And what is most intriguing, my friend, is that those traits describe someone else I know. Loyal, stubborn, honest, forthright and true. One who I am honoured to call friend and who stands before me now, humbled by a dwarf." Legolas rolled his eyes. "One," Aragorn continued, ignoring the look, "whom is also called friend by a Dwarf, though few in Middle Earth would believe such a thing could happen."

At once, a dazzling and dimpled smile lit Legolas' face and Aragorn felt a deep, abiding joy, something he had not felt since, well, he could not even remember how long it had been. He only wished that Gandalf were here to see it, for it had been the wizard who had remarked after a particularly trying day between Elf and Dwarf that the two were more alike than dissimilar and could be fast friends if only they could get beyond their prejudices. He had seen something Aragorn could not have imagined to be there. But, as in most things, the wizard had proven to be correct.

Legolas winced and sucked in his breath and though he continued to smile, fine lines of pain surrounded his upturned lips. He shuddered too, though he tried to hold himself stiff against it, but Aragorn, his hand still grasping the Elf's shoulder felt everything, the pain, the exhaustion, the struggle to hold it all in. It was enough to bring him back to the issue at hand. "You have lost the bet, mellon-nîn. You know what that means," he said as he turned to face his friend. The smile vanished from Legolas' face and he dropped his head to stare at the ground.

"Please, Aragorn. It is - humiliating."

"I am sorry, Legolas. I would never do anything that would hurt you. You know that. But I also have my responsibilities. You should not be walking," he said, his voice taking on a pleading note. "You should not even be standing right now. Give me this one day and I promise that tomorrow, if your wound looks better and your strength has improved, I will allow you to walk some of the way. I will not have you enter Lórien on a stretcher, if it can be avoided. It would not do your pride any good, nor would it help me to have word of such a thing reach your _adar_'s ears."

"He would not hold you responsible…"

"Humph." Legolas' head shot up and he punched Aragorn in the arm.

"Eloquent as always, Ranger."

Aragorn squeezed his friend's shoulder tightly, drawing him near, resting his forehead lightly against the other's. "I will never, if it is in my power, allow you to be hurt, or to suffer. I'm sorry if that bothers you or if you don't approve of my methods. But there it is. I will be no other way."

"Eloquent and predictable," Legolas muttered, though his voice was tender and the Elf relaxed, for a moment, against him. Aragorn savoured the moment before a soft clearing of the throat behind him brought him back to the needs of the present. He pulled away, giving the shoulder beneath his hand a gentle squeeze before motioning to Haldir, Rúmil and Orophin to move forward.

"You may bring the litter. I believe our friend will submit now that he has been bested by a dwarf."

Legolas winced but the wince turned into a rueful smile. "I have no one to blame but myself," he allowed. He raised his head again, the rueful smile turning to a sly one. He quickly pulled away from Aragorn's grip, turning to run in full flight. "But that will not stop me from blaming someone else, too, anyway. And I think the dwarf is ripe for my revenge."

"Legolas! Do not run! I swear, Elf! No running!" Aragorn shouted, fingers grasping at the soft fabric of the tunic that had only a breath before been within his reach. But Legolas was already halfway across the glade. Gimli had stood for a moment, innocent and unaware that he was now a target. He caught on quickly when the first clop of sod hit him between the eyes.

"Why, you Elf!" He reached down to grab a clump of his own and return the favour, only to find that the Elf had leapt into the tree, high above his head. A fall of water soaked him thoroughly as Legolas jumped back and forth on the dew-laden branches. "Get down here!" the dwarf sputtered. "Get down here and I'll tie you to that litter myself. Do you hear me? Get down here!"

The next day they entered Lórien, Haldir and Aragorn leading the way, Rúmil and Orophin in the middle and a dwarf and an Elf bringing up the rear. The two in back had spent the entire morning squabbling and bickering back and forth, forth and back, until the rest of the group had resorted to threats of binding and gagging if they would not cease their endless arguing. In an instant, the two had joined together, turning as one to face their enemies. Hands raised, the rest of the group had backed off. Moments later, the two were at it, again as if nothing had ever happened to interrupt their 'discussion'. They entered Lórien united, whatever differences they once had, forgotten, or at the very least, relegated to some distant woodpile not to be revisited again for the duration of their journey together, a journey that would extend far beyond the quest to destroy the one ring, a journey that would last a lifetime for one of them and an eternity for the other.

The End

"_**Legolas was away much among the Galadhrim and after the first night he did not sleep with the other companions, though he returned to eat and talk with them. Often he took Gimli with him when he went abroad in the land, and the others wondered at this change." Fellowship of the Ring, The Mirror of Galadriel.**_


End file.
